LEAP OF FAITH
by Sally Bahnsen
Summary: This is in answer to a story challenge; what would happen if Slim and Jess were to encounter a female doctor. It is Hurt/Comfort/drama/humour.


LEAP OF FAITH

BY SALLY B.

This story is in answer to a challenge: What if Slim and Jess had to deal with a female doctor?

Many, many thanks to Nokumarie and Pat2 for beta reading for me.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Slim Sherman was a worrier. But that's what Slim did best. Oh he wasn't too shabby at shoeing a horse, drawing a gun, issuing an order... he cooked a pretty mean pot of beans, and he wasn't all that bad at courting the ladies... although, when he thought about it, courting wasn't exactly his forte, but dadgum, he sure could worry with the best of them. He worried about Andy; would his grades be good enough to make him the educated man Slim had always envisioned? He worried about Jonesy; what if something happened to him and Andy had to come home? Well, the man wasn't getting any younger, was he? He worried about Daisy; would she leave the ranch, opting for a more sedate lifestyle in town, and if she did, would she take Mike with her? Which led him onto worrying about Mike and the huge hole it would leave without the boy to liven things up around the house. He worried about ranch life; the rain, drought, Spring round up and the stage line. He worried about the barkeep, although he wasn't exactly sure why. But there was something in the man's eyes that just begged for Slim to worry. Of course he worried about Mort. He was the sheriff, every day his life was in danger and if they lost Mort, who would maintain the law in Laramie if that happened? And then there was Jess. Oh yes, there was Jess and the worries on _that_ list were too numerous to mention. Why Slim would be here until next month and then some if he went through all the things that worried him about Jess. But for now there was only one thing that had him concerned about his pard... and that one thing was proving to be a real time grabber.

Jess had been hurt out on the trail, although neither one of the boys really knew how or when it had happened. One minute Jess seemed fine and then he'd got this niggling pain in his side. Strangely, it seemed to alternate between bearable and less bearable. Jess had put it down to when he'd had to rescue a calf, but Slim wasn't so sure. And that worried him too, because injuries didn't just show up without you knowing how come. Still, for now, he decided, he'd just keep an eye on his friend and hope it didn't get any worse.

The boys reined their mounts to a stop outside the saloon. Slim sure was looking forward to getting out of the saddle and onto a good solid chair. A little peace and quiet with nothing to do but watch the world go by before returning to the hectic life back at the ranch. He was figuring on getting in some good ol' jawing with Charlie behind the bar. Maybe tonight would be the night where Charlie would open up to him and Slim could figure out just what it was about the man that sent his worry alarm into overdrive. And it sure would feel good to chase the dust from their throats with a well deserved whiskey, maybe two, heck, maybe they'd empty the whole bottle. Lord knows they'd earned it.

With pleasant thoughts of 80 proof sliding down his throat, Slim dismounted from Alamo and tied him to the hitching rail. He turned to Jess just in time to see his friend's feet hit the dirt, none of his usual grace apparent. In fact, Slim watched, frowning, as Jess grabbed at his stomach with one hand and the saddle horn with the other.

"Your side still bothering you, pard?"

"Yeah. Musta pulled it worse than I thought when I wrestled that calf outta the bog."

"That was five days ago, Jess. It shouldn't still be troubling you."

Jess rubbed a hand across his right side, wincing. "Yeah, but it's been five days in the saddle. I ain't had time to heal. I reckon a good feed, a hot bath and few nights in my own bed will see me right."

"Your own bed is gonna have to wait a bit, but I think we can rustle up a good meal and a hot bath without too much trouble," Slim said. Then patting down his shirt pocket he added, "I'll sure be glad to get this cattle money in the bank tomorrow."

"Yeah. We got more'n a fair price for them steers, but I gotta tell ya, I'm looking forward to getting home."

"No argument there. Why don't you go and get us a room at the hotel and I'll take the horses to the Livery stable." It was obvious to Slim that Jess was still hurting, so the least he could do was spare him that extra few hundred yards' walk to Cal's.

"You sure you don't want me to help you take care of the horses?" Jess asked, still leaning heavily against Traveler.

"No. Cal can give me a hand. You go ahead and get us a room, then I'll see you back at Charlie's and you better have a bottle and two glasses lined up when I get there."

"You betcha." Jess said, attempting to straighten up and grunting loudly when Slim gave him a good solid male-bonding clap on the back.

Slim gathered Alamo and Traveler's reins then stood a few seconds, watching as Jess, leaning slightly to his right and one hand still guarding his belly, headed off in the direction of the hotel. Sometimes he wished he could be more like his pard and adopt Jess's philosophy when it came to trouble. Jess wasn't a worrier. Jess was a doer. When he was faced with a problem he had three basic strategies for dealing with it: You could ignore it, run away from it or shoot it. Occasionally he found it could be solved with a good right hook to the jaw. A short left upper cut to the midriff often worked well, too.

Of course there were those times that Jess's problem-solving tactics didn't always work and he found himself in more hot water than he started out with. Not to mention jail cells, hand cuffs, the wrong end of a rifle barrel, tied up, beaten up, featured on wanted posters or- even more frequently- under the scrutiny of whichever doctor happened to be settled in Laramie at the time. This both worried and annoyed Slim. In fact, there were times when it downright riled him to the point that he'd slugged Jess a good hard right cross himself.

Yes, Jess was the bane of Slim's existence at times, but he was also his best friend and there wasn't a man anywhere on the face of the planet that he could trust to have his back the way he could depend on Jess. This sent Slim worrying again because no matter how much Jess was trying to downplay that pain in his side, Slim knew he wasn't really telling it like it was. And then what if Jess was badly hurt, really badly hurt? How would he know before it was too late and then what would life be like without his pard? Without Jess and his troubles and his friendship and loyalty, and skylarking and moodiness and company and... well, what would it be like if Jess wasn't there anymore? Come to think of it, Slim could probably pay off his bank note with what he'd save on food and coffee, but, no... a friend like Jess was worth more than a few hundred dollars owing to the bank.

Heaving a heavy worry-laden sigh, Slim led both horses to the Livery stable and started working on a plan to get Jess to see Doc Burns in the morning.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

"Howdy, Jess. How can I help you?"

"Give me a room, Gus." Jess said, leaning his right side against the hotel reception counter. For some reason leaning seemed to ease the stabbing in his side, settled it down to a dull ache, so he leaned a little harder, pleased to find the pain had eased off to bearable. "Two beds. Slim'll be along later."

"How long're you staying?"

"One night. Just got back from a cattle sale. Gotta catch the bank in the morning." Jess found he was talking in short, incomplete sentences, a habit he had picked up around about the time of the seventh or eighth gunshot wound he'd received. Sometimes the pain left him breathless and sometimes it left him without a clear thought in his head and sometimes he simply couldn't string two words together. Talking to Gus was proving to be a real chore and while the words were there, he really couldn't be bothered saying them. He was hurtin'. And speech just seemed to aggravate it. He wasn't exactly in extreme pain at that precise moment but he sure wasn't of a mind to test the boundaries and see what it would take to get there.

"You okay, son?" Gus, asked, always curious about what new disaster might be looming in the young ranch hand's life. Jess knew Gus had an insatiable curiosity. Some referred to his polite questioning as plain, out-and-out gossipmongering, but Jess liked Gus... as a rule... and was happy to spend some time shootin' the breeze with the grizzled old man. Usually. But not tonight.

"Yeah, feel all right. Think I'll go and clean up some before supper." Jess held out his hand for the key effectively ending any thoughts Gus might have had of further inquisition.

Depositing the room key in Jess's open palm Gus said, "Twenty-two, top of the stairs, turn left, first door on the right. There's clean towels and a pitcher of water in the room. I can arrange a hot bath and a shave for an extra two dollars."

"I'll let you know." Jess said, and with that he made his way to the stair case.

Gus shook his head as he watched the young man go. Curiosity still gnawing at him like an aching tooth. Jess seemed to be making an ungainly path up the stairs, hunched over some on his right side. And Gus didn't like it. No siree, he didn't like it one little bit. That boy was ailing, even if he wasn't about to admit it.

Grabbing a dustpan and brush, he wandered around to the front of the counter to clean up the pile of unseemly trail dirt gathered about the wooden floor where Jess had been standing. Of all the cowboys in Laramie, Jess was by far and above the worst for gathering dust out on the trail and then depositing it on the hotel's nice clean floor. Tsking quitely to himself, the old man bent over, sweeping up the grime and wondering if he should have charged Jess extra for cleaning fees.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Inside the room, Jess took a moment to appreciate his accommodation. Gus might be a nosey old geezer but he sure ran a clean and comfortable establishment. While Jess was always impressed with the state of Gus's hotel rooms, he rarely contributed to maintaining its immaculate condition once he'd made the place his home. It was only a matter of minutes before Jess had his hat, jacket and gloves tossed in an untidy pile on one of the neatly made beds.

Jess spent most of his time shrouded in a cloud of dust. Even on a good day it coated his shirt, clung to his hair, covered his jeans and generally hovered around him like a mini twister. He was rarely even aware of its existence anymore and he certainly didn't notice those fine powdery particles floating above his pile of clothing and swirling up towards the clean white ceiling of his bedroom.

Besides, Jess had more to worry about than a few dust bunnies. It was with a sigh of relief that he undid his gun belt and hung it over a chair. He thought about loosening the belt around his pants as it seemed to be pressing real hard against that stabbing pain in his belly. But then he thought it might look out of place heading to supper half-undressed. Jess was under no false illusions that he needed that belt to hold up his jeans. The material clung to him like a second skin and he wondered briefly if maybe he should consider buying a larger fit of pants. Maybe his insides were being crushed from the outside by those hip-hugging denims. But it was just an idle thought and not one he was of a mind to seriously contemplate.

He was pleased to note that with the removal of his gun belt the pain in his side had eased off. Perhaps whatever he'd pulled was objecting to that extra weight around his hips. He found he could even straighten up some without that knife-splitting pain ratcheting through his side. Relieved, Jess turned to the task of cleaning himself up and started to give some thought to Gus's fine suggestion of a hot bath. But first things first. With most of the trail dust washed off his face and neck, Jess gathered up his gloves and gave mild consideration to reattaching his gun belt to his body until a small protest from his belly helped him come to a decision that the better option would be to leave it in the room. He weren't looking for no trouble and 'sides, if any came a-lookin' for him, Slim had his iron handy. And if he didn't get himself down to the saloon sometime soon, then Slim just might be of a mind to use his iron on Jess. Since he _had _promised to have a drink ready and waiting for his pard when he returned from Cal's.

xxxXXXXxxx

Jess ordered a bottle of red eye and took it, along with two glasses, to a quiet corner of the saloon where he settled down to wait for Slim. Charlie greeted him with his usual relaxed, cheery smile and Jess wondered how the man always managed to keep such a happy disposition when often surrounded by unruly drunks. Jess especially wondered how Charlie stayed so cordial when he walked in, always greeting him with a friendly wave as he enquired after his health. After all, Jess had regularly - and almost single handedly - been responsible for the destruction of a small rainforest's worth of barroom furniture. Yet Charlie was always smiling, apparently, the man had not a care in the world.

Jess poured two glasses of whiskey in anticipation of Slim's arrival. He chugged his back in one quick gulp, felt it burn a soothing path down his throat and then come to settle in a warm pool deep in his belly. Ah, that first one always went down real well.

Except maybe on this occasion.

The warm pool in his belly was slowly turning into a raging torrent of liquid fire that threatened to head straight back up his throat with all the explosive power of a Sharps Buffalo gun.

Swallowing hard, he mapped the quickest, least-congested path between himself and the saloon door... just in case. Shifting uneasily in his chair, Jess was also aware that the bearable pain in his side was fast turning into the less bearable, so that he found himself gradually bending forward in a futile attempt to find relief. He wondered idly what the dang-blamed devil was taking Slim so long to get back.

xxxxXXXxxx

Slim's initial reaction was panic. What the dang-blamed devil could have happened to Jess? All sorts of dastardly scenarios scrolled menacingly through Slim's mind. No one separated his pard from his gun belt unless it was through brute force or... well Slim couldn't really think of any other reason – oh... unless it was of the female persuasion; all soft and pliable and enticingly irresistible. But he somehow doubted Jess was in the mood for that tonight.

There didn't seem to be any signs of a struggle. No tell-tale blood stains, upturned furniture, empty shell casings or unexplained holes in the wall. There did, however, seem to be an abundance of water splashed all over hell's half-acre. It covered the bureau, the floor, the rug, the wall; there were a few drops on the bed quilt, too. And there was a scrunched-up, soggy wet towel lying in the corner of the room. Slim knew that Jess had at least had time to clean up some, but that didn't explain his gun belt draped over the back of a chair.

As if Jess being hurt wasn't enough to worry about, now Slim had to add 'abandoned gun belt' to his list of woes. Being the pragmatic sort of soul that he was, Slim made a quick and educated decision to head to the saloon to see if Jess had made it that far.

It was with long easy strides that Slim made his way out of the room, down the stairs, and across the road to the saloon. And it was with a long gusty sigh of relief; followed by a short spurt of irritability that Slim found Jess half slumped over a table in the corner. He eyed Charlie warily across the barroom so as not to do anything that might upset the man who was obviously in the throes of some kind of personal disaster. Slim made his way nonchalantly across the barroom so as not to draw unwanted attention to himself or his visibly inebriated pard. _Life sure wasn't meant to be easy_, Slim lamented to himself as he arrived at the table.

Slim loomed over his clearly out-cold drunken friend; his emotions a veritable cornucopia of confusion. First he was angry... couldn't Jess have waited just a little longer before hooking in and wiping himself out? And should he really be drinking _that much_ when he plainly wasn't well? Then he was worried, because worry always found its way into Slim's thought processes. Should Jess be drinking _at_ _all _when he was unwell? How had he managed to drink himself into oblivion in such a short period of time? Why was he passed out cold when most of the whiskey was still in the bottle? Jess wasn't really a big drinker. Oh he liked to spend money on buying drinks... lots of them. But he rarely ever drank them. Jess preferred to sip on one beer, then another and sometimes even another but never actually made it past those first couple of mouthfuls. Slim wondered if Jess even knew what the bottom of a beer glass looked like. With whiskey he was more inclined to sit and stare at it. Contemplate it; be at one with it. There were even times the contents in the glass never made it past his lips.

Then anger, confusion and worry turned to relief when Jess sat up in his seat, groaning and clutching at his middle. This enabled Slim to get a good clear view of Jess's face. His pale, drawn, sweat-beaded, slightly-flushed-at-the-cheeks face. And relief was no longer grazing in Slim's pasture.

Two quick steps and a crunching of knees had Slim squatting beside the table, one hand resting on Jess's shoulder.

"Jess? You okay?"

Jess stared at Slim in a way that set Slim's teeth on edge and the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He'd seen that look before and knew it was a preamble of something disastrous to come.

"Jess?"

"Outta my way, Slim!" And Jess lurched to his feet, half bent double, one hand tight to his stomach as he wove a limping path between tables, chairs and the occasional loud-mouthed patron.

Slim stood, those creaky knees of his protesting loudly at the change of position. He watched as his pard disappeared through the batwing doors and contemplated running after him, but his endless supply of common sense told him it might be in his best interests to wait awhile.

xxxxXXXxxxx

The sun was all the way down when Jess exited the saloon and rounded the corner of the alleyway where he set up residence on his knees, worshipping the dry, dusty ground. He paid homage to the earth and the moon with whiskey-anointed offerings of practically everything he'd eaten in the last week.

Jess didn't like to puke. Well, he didn't really know anyone who did, but _he_ had a particular aversion to it. Food was not quite sacred to him, but boy, he loved it with a passion and once he'd claimed it as his own he was loathe to let go of it. But right then he couldn't get it out of his body fast enough and he sure as heck couldn't imagine ever wanting to put any back in. Jess puked till it felt like his eyeballs bled. He heaved and he spat and dry retched until every nerve ending connected to his insides pleaded for mercy. He sure wished he could oblige, but it weren't exactly in his control.

Eventually, however, there simply wasn't anything left to expel. Jess moaned, and spat, and cursed and winced and wrapped both arms around his aching, burning guts. That stabbing pain in his side seemed to have shifted lower. It hovered around his belly button, creeping towards his hip, making sneaky little jabs along his leg. Hell, he even felt it through his back. He couldn't remember when he'd been so miserable. Several blows to the head over a period of three years will do that to you.

Back in the saloon Slim was in a quandary. He had a pretty good idea what was happening outside. And while he felt bound and obligated to be out there supporting and comforting his friend, well, Slim just didn't handle puke real well. The smell, the sound and especially the sight of it sent his own stomach spasming in sympathy. Besides, he was feeling quite certain that Jess could use some privacy.

Finally, Slim's worry got the better of him and he just couldn't contain himself any longer. Gulping hard and girding his olfactory receptors against what he was sure would be waiting for him outside; he made a somewhat hesitant exit from the saloon.

While Slim had held a tiny glimmer of hope that he might have been wrong about Jess, realistically he knew it was simply ridiculous to hope for such an unlikely outcome, because as Slim and most of the good folk of Laramie knew, he was always right.

As soon his feet hit the boardwalk an all too familiar sour smell wafted out from the alley. Slim gagged once then opted for mouth-breathing while at the same time lifted his bandanna up to cover the lower half of his face.

Around the corner he found Jess leaning against the side of the saloon, bent double.

"Jess!" Slim was by his side in an instant. Because Slim could put things like gag-reflexes and prejudices aside when the time called for it, and if ever there was an occasion calling for Slim's righteousness, now was that time.

Jess responded the only way he could, by groaning, then moaning, because all coherent thought had gone clean out of his head along with his ability to string two words together. On closer inspection, Slim noted that Jess was trembling - shaking in fact - and when he put an arm around his pard to steady him, he could feel heat radiating off his body, even through his dust-encrusted shirt. Slim's worry meter quickly blew a gasket.

xxxXXXXxxx

Jess had vague recollections of making it back to the hotel room. Of Slim talking to him. Of his knees buckling and threatening to take him down. Of pain in his belly. Of an insatiable thirst even though the thought of ingesting anything was making his stomach roll. He thought he remembered trying to stand up straight but then something like a lightning bolt shot clean through his side and right out the top of his head. He was certain that when he had the strength or inclination to check, his hair would be nothing more than charred and spiky tufts set scantily across his skull.

Jess had had happier days. Of that he was sure.

There were words in his head that he wanted to get out but he couldn't form his lips and tongue into anything more than a moan or a groan. At some point in Jess's life he had come to the realization that manly men don't admit to being hurt. They grinned, kind of, and bore it. They grimaced, they winced, they breathed deeply, their voices became weak and husky and they made false acclamations of 'I'm fine', 'I'm all right' or 'It don't hurt that bad.'

Jess wasn't feeling very manly at that moment. In fact if he could just say the words he thought he might even ask Slim to fetch the doc. But all he could do was roll in a tight ball on the bed, hugging a pillow to his belly and rock carefully from side to side. He was hurting real bad and there weren't no position he could get in that would ease that fire in his guts and that knife through his side. His usual ritual for pain relief - teeth clenching and quiet hissing - didn't seem to help any and he was at a loss what to try next. So he continued to rock and whimper and wonder if maybe he was going to die. And if so could it happen real soon?

Slim had a natural aptitude for leadership. He knew all the right things to say to make a man follow him. He knew the right tone to inject into his voice at just the right time. He sensed when a situation called for gentle cajoling to get a job done and when another predicament might need a raised, no-nonsense parade ground bellow. Sometimes he did have to resort to fisticuffs or a fast draw, but usually his six foot four inches and sometimes cranky demeanor was all it took for a reluctant participant to offer a figurative 'yes sir' and set about doing what was asked of him.

Slim was fairly certain that none of those tactics would be required tonight when he explained to Jess in no uncertain terms that he would be heading off to fetch Doc Burns. He simply refused to take no for an answer. So, once he had Jess settled on the bed, sans his boots, pants and shirt, and a cool, damp cloth draped across his feverish brow, Slim had decided that no matter how hard Jess protested, Doc Burns would be tending to him tonight.

xxxxXXXxxxx

When Slim reached the doctor's house he bounded up the three steps leading on to the front porch and immediately began pounding on the door. Urgency and worry... and, yes, even fear... had stripped Slim of his customary display of good manners, and he had no qualms about making as much racket as possible to attract the doc's attention.

As panicked as he was on Jess's behalf, he only half-noticed the young woman who answered the door. Pushing past with a quick 'excuse me ma'am,' Slim entered the house and headed for the back room where Doc Burns ran his surgery. A short sharp rap preceded Slim's hurried yank on the handle and shouldering of the door. Once open, Slim was somewhat surprised and extremely disappointed to find the room empty. Now _that_ was something he hadn't counted on, even allowing for the lateness of the hour. In Slim's world time had ceased to exist... well, in any civilized manner of time-keeping. All he knew of time right then was that the longer he waited the worse his pard seemed to be getting. He needed attention and he needed it _now!_

"Can I help you?"

Slim turned at the feminine-sounding voice addressing him from behind.

Again, good manners had abandoned him. Without explanation or greeting he asked, "Where's the doc?"

"He's out on a call, won't be back until tomorrow. Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

Slim doubted it. This homely-looking woman dressed in a plain brown skirt and plainer white blouse, with her bright red hair pulled up in a tight bun and wire-rimmed glasses perched on a nose simply awash with freckles, didn't look like she would be of much use for anything. Slim sure hoped she could sew and cook because that was her only ticket to matrimony and the remote possibility of ever walking down the aisle. That and a man with a need greater than hers for eyeglasses.

All those thoughts whizzed through Slim's mind in the time it took for him to draw a deep breath and release a heavy sigh. Now what? Maybe he could go and get the doc and bring him back to Laramie in time to save his pard.

"No offense ma'am but I need a doctor."

"Well Mr...uh...?

"Sherman, Slim Sherman. Sorry ma'am, I guess I forgot my manners. My friend is in a real bad way..."

"Well then, Mr. Sherman, this must be your lucky night. As it happens, _I_ am a doctor. I'd be more than happy to have a look at your friend."

"But...you're a woman."

"Yes, I believe I am. At least I was the last time I checked. I also happen to be a doctor and Dr Burns' niece. Emmie-Lou Burns." She held out her hand to Slim who took it automatically in his and gave it a half-hearted shake. "But you can call me Doctor." She smiled sweetly, well, as sweetly as the homely can. Which was downright awful, Slim thought.

A lady doctor. A woman. Doc Burns' niece. A girl. Slim ran through his options. Which amounted to two. Let this... _female_... doctor tend to Jess or let him die. This was surely one of the hardest decisions he had ever had to make. Lady doctor? Jess die? Lady doctor? Jess die? He carefully considered all the implications of both scenarios and decided that in the end Jess's wrath was better than his death.

"Okay. Guess I don't have a lot of choice."

"No. Guess you don't. I'll just get my bag."

Slim watched in abject horror as this... _female_... doctor crashed her way through various items of furniture on her path to collect her bag from Doc Burns' office. A _blind_ _female_ doctor. What had he done? What had he committed his pard to? Slim slipped off his hat and ran his hand through his hair...three times. He heaved another deep sigh, and shuffled his feet nervously then rolled his hat around and around in his hands before finally depositing it back on his head.

There was an almighty crash behind the door leading to the surgery and then Emmie-Lou made her way out with bag in hand and spectacles slanted haphazardly across her nose. She quickly adjusted them, giving Slim a sheepish smile.

They made their way back to the hotel with Doctor Burns only tripping in the street twice, and then once up the step leading to the boardwalk. She crashed awkwardly into the door frame of the hotel and bumped against a small stand in the hallway sending a vase of flowers to an early grave on the floor. She stumbled up the staircase with Slim's hand hovering behind her to ward off any chance of her making a fatal miscalculation of step depth and width. By the time they reached his hotel room, Slim was sweating rivers and offering silent prayers of salvation to the good Lord above.

Slim opened the door and with a trembling hand ushered Emmie-Lou Burns..._Doctor_ Burns... into the room.

xxxxXXXxxxx

Jess's pain had long peaked past the unbearable. He hadn't had a lot to do with babies. As far as he knew he'd never begotten one although he did quite like rehearsing for the big day when he would finally settle down and have his own family. He'd been involved in the safe arrival of several foals and the occasional calf, but an actual human baby? No, he'd managed to avoid getting up close and personal with them kind in any way shape or form. Although... there was that one time he rode a little too close to the Evans' house and heard the most ungodly scream he'd ever experienced coming from within. He knew Mary Evans was with child and the doc was seeing to the delivery but he had no idea it caused such a ruckus. He'd made a mental note that next time the doc had to be called away from delivering a baby; he certainly would not be the one volunteering for that particular mission.

He imagined childbirth must be rather painful if that scream was anything to go by and he wondered if the torment he was currently going through was anything like the pain a woman had during labor. Then he had a brief moment of lucidity because he knew beyond any reasonable doubt that childbirth couldn't possibly be as bad as the agony _he_ had raging through his guts.

Jess was beginning to suspect his pain wasn't due to a pulled muscle. He'd had plenty of them before and as far as he knew a pulled muscle had never made him hurl. So what then? Something he ate? He began to mentally catalogue everything he'd consumed while out on the trail; hardtack, ham, beans, jerky, and the occasional slow rabbit. Nothing out of the ordinary and besides, Slim had eaten the same and he was okay. Wasn't he? Or was he? Dadgum it, where was Slim anyway? How long did it take to bring the doc?

Another gut-wrenching spasm sliced through his belly and Jess let out a loud moan right about the same time as the door to the hotel room opened.

If Jess hadn't been so focused on his own private hell, then he might have questioned the presence of a woman standing in the doorway. His eyes fleetingly glanced over the rather plain, unsightly individual until he found the person he'd been looking for.

"Slim." It was barely a croak but it was enough for his pard to react and cover the distance to where Jess lay in four quick steps and then seat himself on the side of the bed.

"I'm here, Jess. How are you feeling?"

Jess had to think about that for a second. His usual repertoire of 'I'll manage', and 'it don't hurt too bad' raced to the forefront and teetered precariously on the edge of his tongue. But that's not how he felt at all. He wasn't quite sure how to respond when the plain truth was that he felt like his insides were being torn apart by a meat grinder, that even though his stomach was empty, it was desperately trying to find something – anything - to hurl across the room. Jess felt like crap but he'd never attempted to express that before and the words simply would not come to him.

"Jess?" Slim prompted.

"Honest, Slim. I ain't feeling so good." It was the best he could come up with at short notice.

"I brought the... I... uh... there's... um... I brought Doc Burns. Kind of." Slim motioned to Emmie-Lou, who was now standing just inside the room, squinting hard into the soft lamp-lit room.

"Here! Over here!" Slim called, hoping that by waving both arms above his head the doc would eventually lock on to where he and Jess were located.

With hands out-stretched in front of her to ward off any ill-placed invisible furniture, Dr. Emmie-Lou eventually made her way to the patient and lowered her bag to the floor beside the bed.

Slim looked between the doc and his sweating, fever-ridden, writhing friend and made the introductions. "Jess, this is Doctor Burns. Dr. Burns, Jess Harper."

Emmie-Lou smiled a wide-mouthed grin in the general direction of Jess. Slim grimaced and tried very hard to blink away the image of beaming homeliness engraved on his eyeballs.

Jess wasn't usually prone to unreasonable bouts of terror. But a sudden and shocking form of the screaming heebie-jeebies raced through his being and he grabbed onto Slim's wrist, practically crawling up his arm as he quietly explained to his pard that _she_ was a _woman! _

"I know." Slim replied, sounding like he'd agreed with Jess that doomsday was waiting just around the corner and there was no escape in sight.

"Slim." Jess's plaintive use of his name was almost enough to unman him. But Slim knew the best form of attack during any crisis was to stay calm. Jess needed him to be strong and not let on about his own fearful concerns of what lay in store for his pard.

Occasionally in their friendship Slim had had reason to speak to Jess in the quiet placatory tones usually reserved for dealing with a two-year old. He hated to resort to that form of communication, but sometimes it was the only way to get through to Jess.

And while the simple one-syllable words of explanation were forming themselves into a quiet lecture, Slim experienced one of his rare moments of lily-livered, yellow-streaked, chicken-hearted cowdice and opted instead to just step away and the let the doc, the _she _doc, do her thing.

Seeing the tall man stand back, brow furrowed and lips pursed to a thin line, Emmie-Lou took that as her cue to roll up her sleeves both figuratively and literally and take over.

The man lying on the bed was clearly in pain. Severe pain. The way he was clutching the pillow to his middle, sweating and rolling around in agony was a case that was being presented to her as almost textbook.

But for one or two questions and a simple test, Emmie-Lou Burns had already reached a preliminary diagnosis.

"Mr. Harper?"

"What?" Jess asked, that simple one-worded question loaded with attitude.

Dr. Burns was used to being treated as a somewhat lower class of medical practitioner. Used to it? Yes. At peace with it, accepting it, liking it? No. She'd learned to handle the prejudices dished out by both men who worked in her field of expertise and those in need of her field of expertise. Back home, in St Louis, she found that most men were willing to give her a chance. Here - in the sticks of Wyoming - she found the ranchers and cow hands and business owners that she'd met were to some extent skeptical of both her title and ability. Mostly she didn't care because she was only in Laramie to visit her uncle for some in-house training. She as yet, had not had cause to treat the residents of Laramie or outlying areas. This man before her was the first.

Back home, what she was seeing here was practically routine, but of course in St Louis she had the latest in medical equipment at her fingertips. She wondered briefly just exactly what she could count on in her uncle's surgery.

But before she could think that far ahead, she had to at least attempt to get this man to trust her. One thing was certain - without that trust he would die.

Emmie-Lou felt along the edge of the bed, seeking confirmation of its location before attempting to sit. When she did, the man lying there let out a heartfelt moan.

"Mr. Harper, in answer to your question of 'what' there are some things I need to explain to you. But first, in order to ascertain the correct diagnosis of your condition I have to ask you some questions and then perform an examination."

Jess nodded.

Once she'd gathered her information of how long he'd had the pain in his belly, the type of pain it was, and had he experienced any vomiting, she was ready to do her exam. Instructing Jess to lay on his back was easy. Getting him to comply took a little more effort. When he did manage to roll over, it was with bent knees and a very expressive grimace.

Emmie-Lou removed the pillow from his stomach and then felt along the top of his drawstring undies in search of the ties. When Jess let out a startled yelp she realized she'd dipped a little too low. With deft hands she undid the knot and proceeded to gently maneuver his drawers to just below his belly button. She jumped when a hot sweaty hand wrapped itself around her wrist.

"Whattaya think you're doin'?" Jess asked, eyes reduced to small suspicious slits below menacingly heavy brows.

"I told you, Mr. Harper, I need to do an examination."

"Ain't no woman gonna be examining me there." With as much energy as he could muster, Jess let loose with a hearty "SLIM!"

Slim had been standing back. Way back, trying to somehow blend in with the decor. He knew there'd be trouble...objections, indignation; he also feared a major tantrum and just because _that _hadn't happened yet didn't mean it wasn't brewing.

Trepidation oozed from every pore in Slim's body. He knew Jess made a lousy patient at the best of times but add a woman doctor into the mix, then Slim feared anything was likely to happen. And none of it good.

Before Slim could reach the bed, Doc Burns met him halfway, taking his arm, both as a precautionary measure to avoid tripping on something and falling to the floor and as a mark of urgency that she needed Slim's cooperation to treat his friend.

Slim listened quietly as Emmie-Lou described to him Jess's condition and the need to perform one more test to confirm her findings. And finally, to her request that he speak to Jess on her behalf and convince him that he needed to agree to let her examine him.

Slim wasn't usually one to shirk responsibility, but had he been one of those types he would have gladly high-tailed it out of the hotel room as fast as his legs would carry him with nary a glance back over his shoulder. He sure wished he had more of an inclination to not be so right-minded. He glanced from Emmie-Lou - standing in front of him and a little too close for Slim's liking - to his friend lying on the bed. Jess's pain-wracked face pleading silently for him to _do _something.

All his life, Slim had tried to do the right thing. Mostly it had come easy to him, mostly it wasn't hard to figure out what the right thing was. But now, seeing Jess in the state he was in and understanding that the only person available to help him was this... _female... _doctor who didn't seem to be able to see more than two inches in front of her nose... well, he simply did not know which way to pull the reins.

"Slim... Slim..." Jess was getting weaker, his small one word attempts at speech coming out between clenched teeth and regular moans. Slim had never seen his pard like this and it more than just worried him, it terrified him. And here, standing in front of him, was this lady doctor telling him that _he _had to convince Jess to let her treat him.

And then with a blinding flash of the obvious, Slim came to a decision. Well, more of a realization. If _somebody_ didn't tend to Jess then he _was_ going to die. And as much as it pained Slim to say it, Doctor Emmie-Lou Burns, blind physician and of the female variety was the only person available with even a remote chance of saving his best friend.

Shoulders back, and spine ramrod straight, Slim called on all his available resources to impart a confidence he certainly wasn't feeling and made his way to Jess's bedside. Jess was shivering now, his sweat soaked body curled once again around his pillow. It worried Slim- naturally- that there was no longer any moaning coming from those pale, drawn lips.

He explained as carefully and as clearly as he could the situation as he understood it and then he told Jess that Dr. Burns was going to examine him. And that Jess would virtually have to suck it up and not be such a baby. Of course Slim chose his words more carefully than that as most times he knew just the right things to say and he found that once he'd warmed up, today was no exception.

Jess let out a soft whimper and nodded his head once. At least Slim thought he did. He really wasn't sure that Jess had heard him at all but the real or imagined nod was enough for Slim to give Emmie-Lou Burns the go ahead.

"Really, Mr. Sherman, I don't know what all the fuss is about, I have seen naked men before," declared Emmie-Lou.

The words marched around the room with all the subtlety of a big brass band down Main Street on the Fourth of July. They boomed and crashed and rebounded off the four walls of the hotel room and there simply was no avoiding them. Slim's cheeks turned a brighter shade of crimson and his mouth went terribly dry. He shuffled his feet and cleared his throat and wished the floor boards would suddenly part and swallow him up. To put it bluntly... he was mortified. Thank God, Jess was too far out of it to hear.

"Well, you ain't seen me naked and that's the way it's gonna stay." Okay, so maybe Jess wasn't as far gone as Slim first thought.

"We shall see, Mr. Harper." And Emmie-Lou felt her way back to Jess's bed and deposited her somewhat homely self beside him.

She went through all the motions of what she'd done previously, being more careful about where she let her hands wander. Once Jess was on his back, the pillow discarded and the ties on his underwear loosened, Dr Burns carefully eased the waistband low enough to expose Jess's belly button and then some.

"Would you mind standing by Mr. Harper? Maybe you could hold his hand, or perhaps give him a bullet to bite on, that is what you people out West do, isn't it?" She asked, allowing the words 'Neanderthal' and 'barbarian' to quietly stroll through her brain. She wasn't usually one to resort to sarcasm, but sometimes it was out before she could control it.

Emmie-Lou noted with some relief that Mr. Sherman had opted to ignore her less than professional remark and had in fact chosen to let Mr. Harper take hold of his hand. She also noted the white-knuckled death grip that the sick man was inflicting on his friend. And inwardly she sighed because she knew that worse was yet to come.

Gently, she started to palpate the upper left quadrant of Jess's abdomen, eliciting the occasional grunt and hiss from the young man as she pressed her fingers into his belly. As she moved her hand lower, flinching and moaning accompanied the grunts until she put her fingers on the lower right side of his stomach and gave it a short sharp push, then quickly released the pressure.

Jess had always thought screaming was for womenfolk. Men had other ways of expressing their displeasure. Cussing, swearing and cursing were a few of his personal favorites when confronted with an unexpected sudden pain. However when the doc put what felt like a red hot knife clean through his right side where it exploded into a hundred razor sharp shrapnel pieces, he arched his back and hollered like a stuck pig.

Emmie-Lou Burns was secretly pleased with the reaction she got as it confirmed her first suspicions. Jess Harper was in the throes of a classic case of acute appendicitis. Her pleasure was short lived though as the full enormity of the situation hit her. Surgery was his only option of survival and she was the only doctor on hand to perform it. Which under normal circumstances would have been a no-brainer, but here, in the back end of Wyoming, she wasn't so confident of a happy ending.

"What did you do him?" Slim couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed. This _doctor, _this _woman_ had just inflicted some kind of unmerciful torture on his friend, who had now been reduced to a quivering, trembling wreck.

"Mr. Sherman. We have a serious problem. Mr. Harper needs surgery and he needs it immediately. We need to move him back to my uncle's so I can prepare him to have his appendix removed." Dr. Emmie-Lou Burns punctuated her statement by dropping to her hands and knees and began feeling blindly around on the floor.

Slim was not a stupid man. As a rule he was fairly quick on the uptake. He could write legibly, spell quite well and had no trouble adding figures and keeping the books back at the ranch. But this woman had lost him right after 'we have a problem.' Slim had known for the last five days that there was definitely a problem looming on the horizon but what else had she said?

Appendix? Surgery? And by whom? Dr Emmie-Lou Burns? Who incidentally had done nothing to endear herself to Slim or given him reason to have any sort of confidence in her ability as a doctor. Dang blame it, the woman couldn't even _see!_

"Now hold on a minute," Slim demanded, wondering what in tarnation she was doing crawling around on the floor on all fours. "What do you mean Jess needs... can I help you with something down there?" Slim's curiosity just couldn't be contained.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Have you seen my bag?"

Slim bent over and picked up the black leather bag inscribed with the initials ELB M. gold lettering on its side. The bag which was sitting not twelve inches from Emmie-Lou's nose and approximately three inches from her left hand. And _she _wanted to cut Jess open?

Dr. Burns held out her hand for the bag and climbed to her feet. She turned slightly towards a hat stand minding its own business in the corner of the room and then proceeded to address it. "Mr. Sherman, your friend is..."

"Um, over here, ma'am." Slim ever so lightly laid his hand on Dr Burns' right shoulder and gently guided her approximately forty-five degrees to her right so that she was facing him. "I'm over here."

"Yes, of course," she said a slight pink tinge forming on her cheeks. Pushing a few strands of hair behind her ear she continued with her train of thought. "Mr. Sherman, your friend is very ill. Very ill indeed. His appendix is infected, it's what's causing him his pain and the fever. If not surgically removed immediately, it is more than likely going to burst, in which case the poison currently contained in his appendix will spread throughout his body and ultimately kill him. Am I making myself clear?"

Yes, she was. Too clear. Jess was going to die. His friend, his Pard, he was facing certain death. If nothing was done he would be poisoned. If he let this... this... _blind_ doctor cut him open... Lord knows what she'd likely take out. How big was an appendix anyway? How would she find it when she could barely find the air to breathe?

"Couldn't we wait until the real Doct... um... until your uncle gets back? You said he'd be back by morning, right? That's not so long to wait?"

"Yes we could, Mr. Sherman. We could wait. But my uncle will be of no use to you by then because Mr. Harper will already be dead. So...I suggest you stop fighting me and start doing something useful. Your friend is too sick to make it back to the surgery under his own steam. We are going to have to carry him."

_We_ are going to have to carry him? Homely she might be but she weren't exactly a behemoth and she didn't look like she had the strength to blow out a candle on a windy day let alone help carry a man down a flight of stairs and then the distance from the hotel to the doctor's house_. Besides, she'd more'n_ _likely fall and break her neck._ Slim was in a quandary for the second time that night.

"Ain't nobody carryin' me nowhere. I can make it." Slim had to admire Jess's determination if not his wisdom or his connection to reality.

"You just take it easy, pard, and let us worry about how we're going to get you there."

And worry he did. How _would_ they get Jess from his bed to the doc's? After all, Slim had to consider the fact that Jess was practically naked. Yes he was in his underwear, but in Jess's mind that equated to his birthday suit. Even as out of it as he was, Jess would know that he was being transported through the streets of Laramie in a revealing state of undress. Slim had a brief idea that maybe he could put Jess back in his Jeans. Only a _brief_ idea for Slim knew that while maneuvering him out of his pants was achievable, squeezing Jess's sick, uncooperative body back into his not-so-giving britches would be darn near impossible.

Slim liked to consider things carefully but he drew the line at procrastination and right how he knew that he was buried up to his arm pits in it. "Okay, Dr. Burns, what do you suggest we do?" He reasoned with himself that when it was all said and done, he really didn't have a choice but to include the doctor in his decision making. He didn't want Jess to die.

They talked about rigging up a litter but Emmie-Lou's constant harping that time was of the essence brought to Slim's attention that there was simply not enough time for the luxury of a litter, which led Slim to the only sensible conclusion he could come up with. He would manage Jess on his own. Where upon Emmie-Lou then countered with a whole list of reasons why that would not be a good idea, the least not being that Jess was in extreme pain.

"Don't worry about that, Doc, I'll just give him a bullet to bite on. That's what we do out here when things get tough."

Emmie-Lou Burns had the good grace to at least look embarrassed. She'd thought her less than charitable remark about men in the West - fired in the general direction of Slim - had totally missed its mark. She really would have to be more careful about letting her frustration get the better of her.

Slim had decided that surprise was the best form of attack. Arming Jess with too much information allowed him the chance to arc up and formulate his own plan of resistance. So Slim kept it to the basics, explaining they were moving him to Doc Burns' office so that he could be treated where the tools of medicine were all at hand.

Worry and fear had set down a permanent stake in Slim's psyche. He had pondered - and was relieved to say did so without degenerating into procrastination - the actual logistics of moving Jess to the surgery. He couldn't very well just sling him over his shoulder, not with the state of his belly. He couldn't just lift him like a baby, because he was fairly certain, pain or not, fever or not, Jess would _know_, and as soon as he was well enough, would likely take his iron and shoot Slim's feet out from under him...or ride off into the sunset never to return. But one thing was certain... Jess would not ignore it.

Jess would have to walk, in a manner of speaking, with Slim's help.

He had briefly toyed with the idea that Emmie-Lou hook a finger in the back of his belt so she could stay close enough for Slim to guide her back to Doc Burns' house while he had his hands full taking care of Jess. He simply could not imagine her finding it on her own. She had, however, insisted that she would be fine and would go on ahead to prepare things for Jess's imminent appendectomy. At Slim's dubious look she had assured him that she was quite capable of making it there under her own steam. Slim somehow doubted he would ever see her again.

xxxxXXXxxxx

Jess loved life; in his own special way. He was especially fond of having a place to call his own and a family of sorts. He loved Andy, he loved Mike, and he loved Daisy. He quite liked Jonesy, especially when he cooked big tasty pots of his mulligan stew and served up huge plates of hot apple pie with cheese or on occasion; cream. He had a real soft spot for horses, puppies and womenfolk. Especially the kind that weren't looking for a husband. Jess knew he loved Slim but it was something he would never say out loud. At least he thought he loved Slim. He _was _his best friend after all. But Jess figured that if one more person touched him, moved him, prodded him and tried to pull his underwear down he might just be forced into random acts of violence. Even against Slim.

Jess was hurtin' real bad. Not that he was a stranger to being hurt... or sick... or shot. Being used to it didn't mean he liked it none, but he knew how to deal with those kind of situations. He knew that eventually the pain of a gunshot wound would ease off, and he knew approximately how long that would take. He knew what to do to ease the ache of a sprain and how to stifle a cough, but this agony tearing through his belly was new. It was a pain that went beyond his comprehension He didn't know where it had come from, why it was there and when it would go. Or even if it would go.

And then Slim had started talking to him. Like he was trying to explain something. It was right after that witch-woman had tried to drive her fingers clean through his belly and out the other side. He weren't exactly thinking straight right after that. Slim's voice had sounded as if it was bouncing off the hard rocky walls of a slot canyon, whistling along an empty prairie caught on a southerly breeze. It echoed and boomed and shrunk and skedaddled along the frayed, fragile synapses short-circuiting in his brain. But Jess weren't out of it so bad that he couldn't make out the word 'move'. A brief moment of clarity tickled Jess's imagination and he had a vision of grabbing his gun and shooting the next hand that came within a four-foot radius of his body. He smiled briefly until another gut-wrenching spasm reduced him back to the shakes and moans.

It took Jess about five seconds to realize that Slim had slipped under his guard and was hauling him up into a sitting position. Another two seconds to register his boots being gently but firmly shoved onto his stockinged feet, and then - while all sorts of protests were forming in his mind - that his arms were being quickly and efficiently thrust through the sleeves of his jacket. What the dadgum heck did Slim think he was doing?

"I'm sorry, pard, but I gotta get you to Doc Burns, You're real sick and well... if... um... well... you'll see. Come on," Slim said as he gently eased Jess to his feet and draped a blanket around his shoulders. "I just want you to know, this is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you."

Jess thought Slim had lost his mind.

xxxxXXXxxxx

Gus ran a respectable hotel. He wasn't one to put up with any kind of shenanigans from his guests. He comforted himself in knowing he had his finger on the pulse when it came to keeping track of the comings and goings of his patrons and he wasn't ashamed to ask questions when the occasion called for it. After all, he was a business man – maintaining his reputation and that of his hotel was utmost in insuring a steady stream of customers and a regular healthy income.

He liked Jess and he liked Slim and he certainly had never had cause for concern or worry when either or both of them had made his hotel their home for a night or two. Slim was a fine upstanding citizen of Laramie. Jess was... Jess... Well, he had his moments but Gus knew that Mort trusted him enough to deputize him now and then. As far as Gus was concerned, that was good enough for him too.

Yet, something strange was going on. He knew Jess was ailing some, but when Slim had practically carried him upstairs earlier, he had to say the young man was looking positively ill. And then, not long after, Slim had bounded down the stairs without a word and headed along the street like he had the fires of hell on his tail. Gus figured Slim was going for Doc Burns but instead he brought back a woman. Not the sort of woman either young man would normally keep company with. Gus had thought her rather on the plain side and had had to clean his eyeglasses to make sure he wasn't imagining things. But, nope, she was as unsightly as a boil on a hog's nose. It caused him to shudder.

The young lady visitor had only stayed about thirty minutes before once again descending the stairs and going back towards Doc Burns' house. Gus wasn't sure what was going on, but his gut feeling told him it was fast entering into the category of shenanigans.

The hotel business was certainly varied. Often it would creep towards the edge of boredom, other times it well and truly took the plunge, but tonight was not one of those occasions and Gus was feeling dangblamed exhausted keeping pace with all the comings and goings by Slim Sherman and Jess Harper. He was just settling back in his comfy chair in his small sitting room behind reception when he heard a terrible ruckus coming from the staircase.

"I ain't going!"

"You're going, even if I have to carry you there myself."

Gus sighed audibly. What were those two boys up to now? Easing himself to his feet, he rounded the corner and headed to his reception desk just in time to see Slim Sherman half carrying, half-dragging his blanket clad friend down the stairs.

"Slim? Jess? What's going on here?"

"No time to chat, Gus. I gotta get Jess to Doc Burns'."

"No... you.. .don't. Told ya, ain't no female... gonna be cuttin' me open."

Gus took in Jess's pale, sweaty complexion. The way he was leaning heavily on his friend, nearly bent double as the words came out in harsh, gusty pants. He looked bad. Real bad.

"Can I help, Slim? Anything I can do?"

Slim hit the bottom step and hitched Jess up, readjusting his grip around the sick man's waist and hoisting Jess's right arm tighter around his shoulder. "Yeah, Gus. Get the door for me, will ya? I kinda got my hands full."

"Sure. Sure thing, Slim."

Gus stood scratching his head as the two men exited the hotel and made their way West down the main street of Laramie. Something was sure going on with young Jess. In Gus's opinion the boy was looking like he was knocking at death's door. He sure hoped Slim knew what he was doing, last he heard, Doc Burns was out of town till the morning.

xxxxXXXxxxx

When Jess had first arrived at the ranch, Jonesy had been on a mission to fatten him up. "That boy's too scrawny. Don't look like he's had a decent feed since Adam was a lad," he used to say. And he was constantly onto Jess about getting more food into him. Jess took to eating like a duck takes to water and had never looked back since.

Slim was having murderous thoughts towards his long-time family friend and those extra large helpings of stew and pie. Jess's slight, muscular frame was deceptively heavy and Slim thought, rather uncharitably, that maybe Jess oughta give some consideration to trimming down a bit. He had to keep pausing to readjust his grip. Of course, Jess wasn't helping none, doubled over like he was, occasionally stopping to offer a painful, unproductive heave, and dragging his feet in a feeble attempt to resist the inevitable.

By the time Slim staggered up the three steps to Doc Burns' front porch, Jess was no longer complaining. He was no longer dragging his feet or attempting to hurl and he was no longer in the world of the _compos mentis_. Pain, fever, and plain old fashioned exhaustion had Jess Harper well and truly floating off in the land of La La.

A relieved and sweating Slim turned the handle then hip and shouldered the front door open, balancing his precious cargo tight against the left side of his body.

At first Slim was greeted with silence, save for the harsh raspy sound of his own heavy breathing. He was just about to open his mouth to holler for Emmie-Lou when he heard a crash from behind the closed door leading to Doc Burns' surgery. No need for calling out, he thought, as terrible images of untold carnage and destruction raced through his mind. One good thing, he noted - Emmie-Lou had made it back under her own steam. Slim prayed that they hadn't used up all their quota of miracles for one night. Jess still had to make it through his operation.

With one last shrug to hitch Jess's limp body upright, Slim made his way to the back room.

xxxxXXXxxxx

Emmie-Lou Burns heard the loud smack of her uncle's front door being shoved open with all the care of a force ten tornado. She quickly regained her composure while at the same time adjusted her eye glasses across the bridge of her nose and helped a poor unfortunate chair to its feet.

She straightened her skirt, the plain brown calico one her uncle had insisted she commandeer from her deceased aunt's camphor chest after informing her that the fine silk dresses she had arrived with were totally unsuitable attire for the harsh conditions of the western environment. The skirt itched and rubbed and she was constantly adjusting the way it sat loose and bedraggled around her waist. And what was with the metal bars sewn into the hem? Between the ill-fitting garment around her middle and the metal pieces weighing down the bottom of the fabric, Emmie-lou was finding she had to stoop just to keep the skirt in place. And the weights in the hem, crashing into her ankles with every step she took forced her usual elegant strut into a most awkward gait indeed. Lord knows what she must look like lumbering around the streets of Laramie in her dear old aunt's sensible garb.

Slim Sherman entered the surgery with an uncommon amount of noise and commotion. Of course once Emmie-Lou realized he had his unconscious friend draped around his left side, she fully understood why. With a mental bracing of her shoulders she told herself that it was now time to get down to the serious business of saving Jess Harper's life.

"Here, Mr. Sherman. Lay him on the table under that light." Emmie-Lou paused for a second, peering over the top of her wire-rimmed eyeglasses at the tall man struggling to get his friend up on the operating table. She was surprised by the gentle way he took care to ease the man down, speaking in a tone that any doctor would be proud to adopt as their own bedside manner. She watched Mr. Sherman remove Mr. Harper's boots and jacket, then arrange his body into a comfortable position along the length of the table. She observed the way he took a step back, removed his hat and ran an agitated hand through the length of his sweat-soaked hair. Emmie-Lou had a sudden, unexpected attack of the reconsiderations whereby she quickly disposed of the words 'Neanderthal' and 'barbarian' from her mindset.

Emmie-Lou was fast coming to the realization that Mr. Sherman was going to have to be kept busy or he'd fret himself into a bleeding ulcer and more than likely find himself her next patient to be sliced and diced on the table. She really didn't think keeping the man occupied would be too much of a chore. She was going to need someone to assist her and monitor Mr. Harper's condition during his chloroform-induced nap.

Drawing his attention away from his ailing friend, Emmie-lou set about the task of engaging the tall man in assisting her with Jess Harper.

"Mr. Sherman?"

Slim turned towards the Doc and, although worried, was extremely surprised and pleasantly impressed by the state of Doc Burns' surgery. Instead of the disaster zone he'd anticipated, Emmie-Lou had been busy preparing the room for their impending arrival. If Slim knew his medical procedures - and admittedly, he thought to himself, he didn't - to the untrained eye, Dr E.L. Burns' seemed to have everything under control. Slim felt faint with shock and just a tad on the suspicious side. As in how in the blue blazes had she managed to be so organized without sight? Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, he reasoned, and the fact that the instrument tray was neatly laid out beside the operating table, the oil lamps were burning brightly and the pot belly stove was lit and radiating a comfortable warmth helped to relieve some of Slim's hard earned tension.

Facing Dr. Emmie-Lou Burns, a sudden and unrelated question came hurtling into Slim's mind straight out of left field.

"You just in Laramie paying your uncle a social call?" Slim asked, still a little bewildered at finding the surgery in one piece.

Emmie-Lou shuffled her way carefully forward, coming to stand before Slim only to peer painfully at him, with squinted eyes, through the thick glass of her spectacles.

"As a matter of fact no. I'm here for some medical training."

A most uncomfortable tight feeling seemed to shrink and expand inside Slim's head, just before his heart plummeted to his toes. The night just kept on getting better and better. Here he was, with Jess needing emergency surgery to save his life and the good Lord above had seen fit to send him not only a _woman_ doc... but a _blind_ woman doc... and a _novice_ blind woman doc at that. Slim thought he might keel over right there and then.

"Now, enough chatter, Mr. Sherman. We need to get down to business and to do so; I'm going to need your help."

That was the understatement of the century, Slim pondered nervously.

"First things first." Doc E.L. Burns stated, before tripping on the edge of... well nothing that Slim could actually define...and crashing into the stand with the instrument tray on it. "Oh for heaven's sake!" Declared Emmie-Lou. "I simply cannot keep this farce up any longer."

Slim dreaded what was coming next, but in way was prepared, thinking the upcoming confession was not entirely unexpected. She was finally going to come clean that she was in fact not in the least bit related to the medical profession. Now what would he do? Who would save his pard? He'd pinned a lot of hope on maybe being wrong about this blind, homely woman. After all, a woman of such unbecoming looks and eyeglasses the thickness of a beer glass should surely be compensated in the form of some kind of excellence in a career other than marriage. Slim had sure hoped her calling was medicine, but now he feared all his doubts were about to be confirmed.

But to Slim's surprise and horror, Emmie-Lou Burns whipped off her glasses and tossed them across the operating table onto a tall wooden sideboard standing against the wall.

Slim could feel a conniption coming on. What in dangblame tarnation was she doing? With a dramatic waving of hands and loud clearing of his throat, Slim attempted to get the now totally blind physician's attention. "Um... Miss... Doctor... your... um... your eyewear." Slim nodded to the recently discarded spectacles laying on the sideboard

"I beg your pardon?" Emmie-Lou turned to Slim and for the first time he could make out the color of her eyes. A rather vibrant shade of green, Slim noted as an aside.

"YOUR SPECTACLES. YOU...YOU...DROPPED THEM!" Slim knew she wasn't deaf but for some reason felt compelled to shout at her.

"I did no such thing, Mr. Sherman. I removed them. Oh and you can stop with all the histrionics, I can see perfectly well without them and in fact my vision is a healthy 20/20 when the darn things aren't attached to my nose."

"But... but..."

"Mr. Sherman. Do you have any idea what it's Iike to be good at something? I mean really good, only to have people doubt your qualifications because you happened to be born the wrong gender?" Emmie-Lou shook her head slowly, "No, Mr. Sherman, I don't expect you do. But I do imagine that you and your friend here," she nodded towards Jess, "were experiencing those same feelings of prejudice just because I am a woman. You didn't see someone who is competent, a person who could possibly have the expertise to know what she was doing, let alone the capability of saving Mr. Harper. You saw only a woman and woman's place is in the home, not in the male dominated world of medicine. So...to ward off some of those misconceptions, I added eyewear to my appearance in the hope that..."

Emmie-Lou's somewhat longwinded and inflated explanation was interrupted by a moan and groan coming from the general area of Jess.

Both sets of eyes honed in on the semi conscious man sprawled out on Doc Burns' -times two- operating table.

All thoughts of Emmie-Lou's deception flew from Slim's mind as two quick steps took him to Jess's side. Slim had long ago learned to read all of Jess's silent cues when he was sick, injured, angry, sulking, or about to engage on a rampage of unimaginable proportions against some unfortunate enemy from his past... or his present... or deemed to be in his future. Having been on the receiving end of several of Jess's right hooks, Slim had come to easily recognize the assortment of facial expressions hinting at what would ultimately lead to Jess's knuckles connecting with his jaw. He knew all the little finger twitches preceding an imminent drawing of his iron – generally, Slim was happy to say, not aimed in his direction. But most of all, Slim had become an expert in reading the level of Jess's pain by the severity of a grimace, a wince, a jaw-busting teeth clench and on the very rare occasion a moan. Jess did not ordinarily verbalize his pain with such primitive and undignified noises. As a rule, Jess tended to suffer in relative breath-hissing silence.

Slim was worried. More than was even usual for him. Jess's constant descent into long drawn out groans had Slim's stomach twisted into a huge, heart-burning knot. He laid a hand on his pard's shoulder, trying to offer some comfort... but Jess was past comfort, past ineffectual words of encouragement and support, and Slim knew that he had no choice but to trust Dr. Emmie-Lou and hope her only form of deception was her lack of a need for eyeglasses.

Squaring his six foot four frame and offering Jess one last shoulder squeeze, he turned to Emmie-Lou and said, "Okay, Doc, what do you want me to do?"

xxxxXXXxxxx

Emmie-Lou wasted no time setting Mr. Sherman to work, with orders to collect one bowl of warm water and one of boiling. Earlier, she had had the foresight to set two big pans on the cookstove in preparation for a) cleaning Mr. Harper's less than pristine body and b) for sterilizing the instruments that would be required to take out his appendix.

When Slim returned to the surgery with the warm water, following Emmie-Lou's instructions, he set it on the table beside her. Slim noted the neatly-folded longjohns and undershirt laying on a chair in the corner of the room and wondered idly how much of a struggle Jess had put up when the doc had divested him of his undergarments. The fact that neither Emmie-Lou nor Jess was showing signs of injury shot Slim's worry meter straight into the danger zone with a realization that his friend no longer had any fight in him. Slim prayed silently that somehow Jess would dig deep and find that ornery pig-headed stubbornness that had held him in good stead when recovering from his many encounters with a bullet and put it to good use on this occasion.

Feeling a need to fade discreetly into the background, Slim took a step back and watched as Emmie-Lou Burns, now donned in an apron, and hair covered with a rather attractive pink bandanna, gently sponged Jess from neck to hip. Slim squirmed in anticipation of a raging war when she soaped up a shaving brush and proceeded to lather Jess between his belly button and the sheet offering a small smattering of modesty across his hips. When no objections were forthcoming, Slim felt his shoulders slump as he was again reminded just how sick his pard was.

Without taking her attention away from the task at hand, Emmie-Lou called to Slim to fetch the bowl of boiling water from the kitchen. On his return he couldn't help but notice the now shiny smooth skin across Jess's lower abdomen.

One by one the instruments were dropped into the bowl of steaming water, where they lay while Doc Burns fashioned a piece of fabric into a cone shape. Grabbing a small bottle from the instrument tray she moved to Jess's head and held the fabric over his nose and mouth, muttering soothing sounds to calm the young man's attempt to turn his face away.

Slowly, she allowed a few drops from the bottle to soak into the fabric, holding it steady and continuing her soft, soothing words to Jess. Eventually, Jess's movements began to still and Emmie-Lou called to Slim to come stand by Jess's head and hold the cone in place for a few more minutes.

Once Jess was sleeping soundly, Emmie-Lou then instructed Slim to empty the bathing water from its bowl and bring back clean warm water in which he was to wash his hands thoroughly. With soap. Slim had an awfully suspicious feeling that this was leading to something he was not going to like.

"Mr. Sherman, while Mr. Harper is sleeping, I want you to remain diligent in monitoring his breathing while I'm performing surgery. Please inform me if you notice it slowing or hitching in any way or if it appears that Mr. Harper is coming around. The last thing we want is him waking up while I'm up to my elbows in his abdomen."

Slim sure hoped Emmie-Lou was joking with that last comment.

Watching Jess breathe was a task he was fairly certain he could handle. Although he was at a loss as to why such a task would require him to have scrupulously clean hands.

Slim's curiosity was almost on a par with his insatiable need to worry. He watched as Doc Emmie-Lou retrieved each instrument from the water with a pair of tongs and laid them on a small white towel. When she drew a deep breath and picked up a scalpel aligning the sharp edge against Jess's skin, Slim felt compelled to turn away... but some deep hidden ghoulish instinct in him kept his eyes peeled to the place where Emmie-Lou began to make her incision.

"Mr. Sherman."

"Huh?" Slim found that common speech seemed to have deserted him, and he was unable to draw his gaze away from the blood that was now spilling onto Jess's abdomen.

"I'm going to need you to come here and assist me."

To what?! Slim sure hoped that by assist she meant he would be putting on a coffee pot and plying her with copious amounts of caffeine throughout the night.

"Assist? Whadda ya mean?"

"I mean you are going to be my nurse." There was something seriously wrong with that scenario, Slim thought, _she _was the doctor and now expected _him_ to be a nurse.

"Whoa, now, hang on a minute. I'm not so sure I'm the right person you should be..."

"Mr. Sherman, it's not an option. You don't get to choose. I need you to help me and that's the end of it. Now you come here and do what I say. And bring that stand with the surgical instruments with you."

Slim was feeling slightly gob-smacked at that particular moment. He wasn't used to taking orders... well not from civilians and certainly not from female civilians. And he sure wasn't of a mind to want to be involved in removing part of his best friend's insides. He didn't remember signing up for that particular engagement. Yet for some reason, Slim did as Emmie-Lou requested and moved to take up position across from her on the other side of the operating table.

"I'm going to open the incision a little wider with these retractors and I want you to hold them in place while I look for the appendix." Images of Emmie-Lou crashing into furniture, tripping up steps and talking to hat stands flashed through Slim's mind and a sudden icy chill ran down his spine. He sure hoped she'd been telling the truth when she so casually removed her eyeglasses with claims of 20/20 vision.

At a loss as to what else to do, Slim simply stood and nodded. Taking a retractor in each hand, he held them in place while Emmie-Lou cut through several layers of Jess's belly before delving inside with two other surgical instruments in search of that trouble-makin' appendix.

Slim was no stranger to gore. Heck, you don't fight in a war and not get up close and personal with a man's innards. He'd never really got used to seeing a human being blown apart or his guts resting in a soggy pool where his stomach used to be. On the rare occasion where a man would survive a cannon ball blast or shrapnel wound, it was not unusual to find yourself shoving a length of intestine back inside the jagged cavity.

Seeing Doc E.L. Burns at work on his pard was not at all like dealing with a messy wound in time of war or in the heat of battle. Yes, he'd had occasion to remove the odd bullet or two from an arm or a leg or even a shoulder, but this... Slim felt a sudden rush of saliva fill his mouth, heard a faint ringing in his ears and - much to his disgust - became aware of a most untimely weakness in his knees. Seeing Jess's insides being pulled intentionally from within his belly was not how he had planned to spend his first night back from a long hard journey on the trail.

Gulping in some ragged breaths to ease his churning stomach, Slim decided that Emmie-Lou was right; he needed to be vigilant monitoring Jess's breathing. Either that, or he was going to find himself face first on the expensive rug adorning the Burns' polished cedar floor.

Slim turned his face towards Jess's head, much preferring to watch him breathe than bleed all over his now gaping belly. But Jess was deathly still. His pale complexion highlighted by the pink fever-flush to his cheeks and the dark matted curls plastered to his forehead. Slim didn't like fevers. Doc Burns, the real Doc Burns, had told him once that it was the body's way of fighting an infection. But Slim had seen too many deaths accompany a fever and so his opinion remained solid. He didn't like them and he didn't trust them and he sure hoped that Jess's would come down real soon.

"Mr. Sherman?"

"Yeah?" Slim was surprised to hear Emmie-Lou's voice. So focused was he on his pard that he'd almost forgotten she was there, except that his hands were cramping from holding on so tight to the tools separating the two sides of Jess's belly.

He wished she hadn't spoken because it immediately drew his attention to her, then her hands, and then what her hands were doing. His stomach did a most inconvenient roll. He wasn't sure what that was she had pulled out of Jess, but it was a pinkish, slightly purplish blob and it had an angry red and yellow appendage hanging off of it. And that's when Slim made the connection between appendix and appendage and was somewhat shocked that such a tiny piece of human flesh could cause a person so much grief.

Emmie-Lou spoke without shifting her concentration on what she was doing. "You can release the retractors now and drop them back into the bowl of water. Then I want you to take hold of these two clamps and hold them as steady as you can." Slim did as he was told, taking a deep breath to calm his shaking hands and wrapped a firm grip around the scissor-like instruments Emmie-Lou was holding.

Slim had very few aversions in his life, but if asked he would probably admit that he didn't like working the forge, that he wasn't real keen on mucking out stalls, that he found soaping harnesses extremely tedious and shirked the job whenever possible and he positively hated filling in chuck holes. But given a choice right then, he'd happily agree to doing those chores ten times over and then some, rather than remaining where he was holding Jess's insides in both his hands. Slim made a promise to himself... if they both got out of this alive, then he'd happily do all those loathsome chores for the next six months all on his own.

Heaving a deep, troubled sigh, Slim took a few seconds to pay closer attention to Emmie-Lou at work. He found himself both mesmerized and amazed at the skill in those tiny hands as she stitched a thread around the base of Jess's appendix and then another a little way up. She was a picture of concentration, no sign of that earlier squinting, both her eyes firmly focused on the delicate work at hand. While Slim was expending every trick he knew to keep his hands from trembling, Doctor E.L. Burns' were as steady as a rock, with not a quiver or a shake in sight. Slim found that he was beginning to believe she did have all those qualifications and proficiencies she'd claimed she did.

Slim knew it was too good to be true. Over the years he'd copped a lot of flak for always being so uptight, for never letting his hair down or kicking up his heels. But Slim had his reasons, and a formula, a strict code he abided by, so that the unexpected never had a chance to creep up on him and take him by surprise. Oh, he hadn't always been so rigid, so lacking in the spontaneity that most everyone else he knew was capable of showing. But he'd learned, on those rare occasions when he'd let his guard down and started to relax, that that was asking for all kinds of trouble to come sneaking up behind you only to take a big chunk out of your rear end.

So when Jess let out a soft grunt, although highly dismayed, Slim was not really surprised.

Emmie-Lou's head shot up in an instant, frowning, her eyes dark green pools of concern. The soft grunt was followed by a twitch along Jess's jaw line and an almost imperceptible wince. Emmie-Lou's second worst nightmare was about to unfold.

"Mr. Sherman, I want you to gently lower the clamps and rest them along Mr. Harper's abdomen and then you are to get the fabric and place it back on Mr. Harpers face. Add three drops of chloroform taking great care not to add anymore. Do you understand?"

Slim felt like he wanted to vomit. But he clearly understood his instructions and immediately laid down his tools, grabbed the cone-shaped fabric and small bottle and moved back to Jess's head. Although Slim was very familiar with most of Jess's nuances, the signs of waking up during surgery was certainly a new one on him and he hoped in the future to remain blissfully ignorant of it.

He carefully dropped the measured dose of chloroform on the material and waited with bated breath to see if his pard would do as expected and slip gently back to his place of rest. And then a thought occurred to him. It was just an itch at the edge of his brain. _Chloroform. Jess. Chloroform and Jess. _But no, he couldn't reach the itch so for the time being, let it go.

Emmie-Lou turned her attention back to what she was doing, quickly and efficiently finishing off the last stitch along the artery in Jess's appendix, before releasing the clamps and depositing them in the same bowl of water as the retractors. She spared a quick glance at Mr. Sherman, pleased to see he had everything under control at Mr. Harper's head and the cone shaped fabric expertly placed over his nose and mouth. Despite the extra deep furrow creasing his brow and that tight set to his mouth, Mr. Sherman was the picture of cool, calm and collected. She wondered if he felt as composed as he appeared.

With the artery tied off to her satisfaction, and Mr. Harper seeming to have drifted back into the land of nod, Emmie-Lou then set about the task of removing his appendix. With a quick puff of her lips to remove an errant strand of hair fallen across her nose, she reached for the surgical scissors and snipped the nasty little critter away from its base. Taking a few seconds to study the offending organ, she then dropped it into a small dish where she had earlier discarded the blood-soaked cotton pads used for mopping up the initial bleeding from the incision.

She set to work finishing the final stitching of the stump and then replaced Mr. Harper's internal organs back where they belonged. Once the incision was closed she stood quietly, studying her handiwork and wondering if it was enough to get the young man through the night. And possibly the next few years. Although the worst was over, Emmie-Lou knew his greatest obstacle now was infection. She would have to remain alert in monitoring his fever and the state of his wound for any signs of that pesky killer moving in on her fine surgical achievement.

"Mr. Sherman, would you mind coming here and giving me a hand while I bandage him up? I'm going to need you to lift him enough for me to wrap the cloth completely around his stomach."

"You mean it's over?" Slim had been too afraid to drag his eyes off Jess once he'd taken up position by his head and applied the chloroform-soaked cloth back to Jess's face. For some reason, Slim felt it was his honor-bound duty to make sure his Pard remained completely oblivious to the fact that Emmie-Lou Burns had his insides resting on his outsides.

Jess was neatly and efficiently wrapped in enough cloth to tweak the interest and envy of a couple of Egyptian mummies. Emmie-Lou was determined to stabilize the wound in order to give it the best chance of healing. Once done, she checked his breathing and pupils. Happy that he seemed to have drifted from his chloroform-induced state of unconsciousness into a more relaxed form of slumber she covered him with a blanket in readiness for the night long vigil ahead.

The fact that Mr. Harper was still battling a fever did give her cause for concern, although logically she knew it would take some hours, perhaps a day or two before his body was able to adjust to the fact that the infected appendix was no long waging war on his immune system.

Gathering up the tools of her trade; the bowl of water and the bowl containing both Mr. Harper's appendix and blood soaked cloth pads, Emmie-Lou retired to the kitchen to dispose of both. She returned a few minutes later with another basin of lukewarm water, a clean cloth and a cup of water. One thing Doctor E.L. Burns was certain of: When Mr. Harper awoke he was going to have a mouth as dry as the Mojave Desert.

She placed her bounty on the table by the sleeping man, giving him an appraising look before her attention was drawn to a corner of the room, the corner with the chair housing Mr. Harper's underwear and now Mr. Harper's friend, Mr. Sherman. The tall man had folded himself into the seat not bothering to shift the underclothes before collapsing and leaning forward, both elbows perched on his knees and his head resting in his hands.

She took a professional and personal look at the man who had so steadfastly stood by his friend, who had done everything in his power to ensure Mr. Harper was taken care of - even to the extent of trusting her, a mere woman, to perform the required surgery, even though it clearly went against everything he had been led to believe. She understood that for Mr. Sherman to have trusted her as he did must have taken and enormous leap of faith.

The doctor in her was aware that the ordeal of watching a surgery, to the uninitiated, could be quite distressing. And even more so when that surgery was on someone you cared about. Add having to assist into the equation and Emmie-Lou would not have been surprised to see Mr. Sherman suffering from some form of delayed shock.

While Mr. Harper was resting comfortably and Mr. Sherman was doing an excellent impersonation of a wrung out dish cloth, Emmie-Lou had a very rare womanly urge come down upon her.

"I'm going to put a pot of coffee on. Would you like a cup?"

Slim slowly lifted his head to stare at Emmie-Lou with bleary red-rimmed eyes, his face blank for just a beat before slowly transforming into a more familiar expression of worry and confusion.

"Are you talking to me, ma'am?"

"Well, I don't see anyone else in the room capable of drinking coffee and we don't have any hat stands in here, so... yes, I'm talking to you and offering you a cup of coffee. Would you like one?"

Emmie-Lou Burns, M.D., was not normally a woman of patience, and her small windows of clichéd womanly behaviors did not stay open for long. She resisted tapping her foot as Mr. Sherman turned his worried gaze on his sleeping friend as if needing to confirm something in his own mind before answering.

"Is he going to be okay?"

Even before she'd had time to consider his question, Emmie-Lou's hackles rose tall and proud, initiating an immediate defensive stance. After all that he'd seen that night, he still doubted her. But when Mr. Sherman rose to his feet, covered the small space between chair and operating table in three quick steps, she was interested to note the way he laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, gently squeezing, before turning his head to stare intently at the slow rise and fall of Mr. Harper's chest. His shifting gaze moved and landed on her, seeming to seek out some form of reassurance.

Emmie-Lou pushed her temper back where it belonged and nodded quietly. "His appendix was intact, so that was one difficulty we didn't have to deal with. Now it's a matter of making sure the incision remains clean and dry and that he gets plenty of rest. Yes, Mr. Sherman, I think your friend has a very good chance of making a full recovery."

"Then yes, ma'am, I'd be much obliged to you for some coffee."

xxxxXXXxxxx

Jess had always had an excellent rapport with his stomach. It would say 'jump' and he would ask 'how high?' It would growl and grumble that it needed food and Jess was more than happy to oblige taking great delight in filling it to capacity and then some. But somewhere, somehow in the last twenty-four hours their relationship had gone terribly sour.

Jess had once been told what it felt like to get gut shot. He had a feeling it was Doc Philips that mentioned it to him. Or was it Doctor Losk? Or Sweeney, or Hansen, Webb, or Huber, or the one who attended Slim when old man Parkinson had shot him, whose name had escaped him. Jess thought it was probably the Parkinson doc who'd been happy to explain how lucky Slim had been that the bullet had swung wide of his belly and caught him in the side.

The Doc had plied Jess with very descriptive and unwanted details of how a bullet tears through vital organs; how gastric juices were leaked into your body and to imagine the bite of snake taking place inside your belly; and to then imagine the pain. Jess had thought at the time, that maybe that information was something that should only be imparted on a need-to-know basis and he could think of no earthly reason as to why he needed to know. He had come away feeling decidedly squeamish and with a solid determination to never lead with his stomach during a gun fight.

Despite being somewhat of a bullet magnet, over the years Jess had managed to contain most of his wounds to his shoulders, arms and occasionally a leg. He'd been creased along the side of his head a time or two and suffered some near misses with a stray bullet grazing a rib. He'd always considered himself lucky that he'd managed to avoid getting hit in any place vital.

Jess had an awful feeling that somewhere out on the trail his luck had run out and he'd managed to catch one low in the guts.

There were horrible and painful memories tripping and staggering through his mind. With the memories came sensations. Most of which he could seriously do without. He was strangely hot on the outside but chilled bone-deep on the inside and with that realization came a powerful fit of the shakes and shivers. Which triggered a terrible pain down low in his belly - way down low, lower even than where his belt buckle sat... and that set off alarm bells of sheer unadulterated panic.

"Sl...Sli..." Jess became aware of a feral taste coating the inside of his mouth and an awful dryness forcing his normally deep, gravelly voice into nothing more than a weak, pitiful whisper whereby the words he was trying to get out kept clagging on his tongue.

xxxxXXXxxxx

Slim had all his senses tuned to his pard, waiting for any sign of awareness or fight. Slim knew that Jess would not be a happy camper once he realized _everything_ that had gone on, and he quietly dreaded the moment that Jess found out he was laying on an operating table totally and completely naked, and that a woman Doc had put him in that state. With any luck, that small detail had been permanently wiped from his memory due to the high level of pain and the low level of lucidity at the time.

Slim was more than used to dealing with Jess as a patient. He had it down to a fine art and regarded the small bottle of laudanum standing on the instrument tray as a loyal and trusty ally, knowing what a handy weapon it could be during a full-blown case of the ornery-driven Jess wars.

Jess didn't like laudanum, but at that precise moment, Slim didn't give a damn. He was tired, and he was hungry and he was worried and he was not in the mood to put up with any of Jess's standard acts of hysterics. And besides, he was pretty sure Jess was going to be hurting real bad when he did wake up. What had the Doc said before heading to the kitchen? Jess needed to rest, he needed to lay still and make sure that wound stayed closed. And that's exactly what Slim was going to do. Even if he had to hog tie his difficult pard to the operating table himself.

When Jess's feeble attempt at speech stretched across the six foot expanse between high-backed chair and operating table, Slim was immediately foot bound and by Jess's side in a heartbeat.

"Slim..."

"Yeah, Jess. How are you feeling?" Relief plastered a huge grin on Slim's face. Jess was awake, that had to be a good sign, at least initially... until he worked out what had happened to him and how.

"Who... who... shot... me?" Slim observed the confusion in both the tone of his voice and the expression on his face.

"You haven't been shot, pard. But you've been real sick."

"Mrrhhmmm." Jess licked his lips and attempted to voice his thoughts and his immediate desire for something to drink. "Th... thirsty."

Slim reached around for the cup of water on the stand next to the makeshift bed and held it to Jess's lips while gently lifting him so he could take a drink. Jess sipped, then gulped and Slim had an awful feeling of _déjà vu_ and felt that itch worrying at his brain again.

When Jess let out a soft splutter and dramatic wince, Slim took the cup away and eased him back so he was laying flat again.

"Slim."

"Yeah, pard."

"Slim."

"Yeah..." A sudden anxious chill crawled slowly up Slim's spine as he looked into the glazed-over eyes of his ailing friend. _ Oh no. No. No._

"Sli..." And then it became a case of _Yes. _And _'Oh shoot!' _ And Slim had clear and unwanted access to that itch scuffling along the edge of his brain.

Jess.

Chloroform.

Jess and chloroform and the aftermath.

Before Slim could react, Jess's freshly ingested water erupted from his mouth with the same impressive force as 'Old Faithful.' Slim's stomach immediately fell into sympathetic spasms, causing him to mouth breathe for the second time that night.

"What in the name of Jehovah is going on here?" Emmie-Lou marched from the kitchen and in through the surgery door, a cup of coffee in each hand, just in time to witness Jess depositing the contents of his stomach all of over the front of Mr. Sherman's shirt.

Enmie-Lou wasn't given to indiscriminate bouts of swearing, but dadgum, there were a few choice words gathering in her mouth just waiting for permission to rush forward and stomp all over the two men wrestling around the operating table.

Frightening images of stitches tearing, incisions opening and freshly spewed vomitus contaminating everything in sight flashed through her mind. She none too gently placed the two cups of coffee on the bureau just inside the door and stamped her way to the tall man and his hurling friend.

"What happened?" She demanded of the now barf-covered Slim Sherman.

"He was thirsty." Slim explained, struggling to maintain his composure as the sour puke smell systematically invaded his nostrils. "Um... Jess gets a reaction from chloroform. It makes him hurl."

"So I see," said Emmie-Lou, gently taking Mr. Sherman's arm and pulling him back out of the way. "Go and get cleaned up. I'll see to Mr. Harper."

Slim made a hasty beeline for the kitchen, gulping in great lungfuls of air and swallowing convulsively, refusing to be drawn into Jess's weak pleading of his name.

"Well, Mr. Harper, I see you're awake."

Jess managed to peer at Emmie-Lou through small, pain-filled slits. She knew he must be feeling miserable and her normally pleasant, but of late absent, empathic bedside manner scurried to the surface and made itself known.

"Let's see if we can't make you a little more comfortable." She crooned, gently.

Jess continued to peer at her. 'Ain't I seen you some place before?"

Emmie-Lou couldn't help but smile. She was getting almost fond of this cantankerous, ill-tempered young man. Of course she had only known him at his worst - while in pain - and couldn't help but wonder if he was always this hard to get along with.

"Yes, Mr. Harper, you have, but we'll discuss that some other time, when you're feeling better. How's the pain?"

Jess sucked in a quick harsh breath and clenched his teeth around an extremely animated grimace.

"He's hurting real bad. But he won't tell you."

Emmie-Lou hadn't heard Mr. Sherman come in behind her and she pulled her attention away from her patient to give Slim an enquiring look.

"He never does. And he doesn't take too kindly to laudanum either."

"Don't tell me, let me guess. It makes him hurl."

"No, not exactly. He just refuses to take it."

"I can see Mr. Harper is in sore need of an attitude adjustment." Emmie-Lou declared, and not in the least bit fazed, was more than happy to volunteer herself as the best person to implement the procedure. She took a moment to study Mr. Sherman, taking in his disheveled appearance, pale complexion and now sodden shirt front. "How are _you_ feeling, Mr. Sherman?"

"Oh... I'll do." But E.L.B was not so sure. There were little bells sounding off in her head and she studied the tall Slim Sherman a little harder, noticing a distinct unsteadiness about his stance.

"Uh... ma'am..."

"Whoa, there!" Emmie-Lou took a good strong hold of Mr. Sherman's arm just as his knees started to fold under him. "Here, sit." She'd half been expecting a meltdown of sorts, and was-quite frankly-surprised it had taken so long to arrive.

With a steadying arm on Slim's back, Emmie-Lou guided him back to the underwear chair and made him sit. Slim was somewhat resistant when she tried to force his head between his knees, but in his weakened state gave in and did as instructed. While Mr. Sherman was regaining his equilibrium, she snagged a blanket from a drawer in the bureau and draped it around his shoulders.

"Stay there, while I tend to Mr. Harper."

Emmie-Lou returned to Jess, whose face now seemed to be frozen into a permanent wince and she was more than a little concerned about the ferocious grip his teeth were inflicting on his bottom lip. Tsking quietly to herself she set about the task of educating Mr. Harper on the benefits of laudanum. She could see no possible reason why a man would want to continue to suffer unnecessarily the kind of post operative pain he was in. Not when relief was easily at hand.

"I'm going to give you something for the pain, Mr. Harper and I am not prepared to take no for an answer. You will swallow it, and then wash it down with small sips of water. And you will not, under any circumstance, vomit it back up. Are we clear?"

Jess didn't like that woman. And he didn't like the small snippets of familiarity tracking their way through his memory. Yeah, he knew who she was. She was that she-devil who had drove her fingers clear through his belly and made him scream like a girl. Well, ain't no woman was gonna be tellin' him what he was and wasn't gonna be doin'.

If he could just get his teeth to release his lip he'd be tellin' her himself, but there was still that ragin' fire in his belly, way down low, that was pullin' his attention away from clear thought and the motivation to speak. Dadgum but his belly was hurtin' something fierce. Not the same kind of hurtin' it was doin' when he rode into town, or when he'd been hurlin' his insides out in the alley, when he'd been curled around his pillow wishin' the gates of hell would just open up and take him there and then. But it was a hurt he could sure do without.

And he was awful afraid that if it didn't go real soon he was gonna be voicing that hurt in a way he weren't in a habit of doing.

"Mr. Harper, I want you to drink this."

Jess wasn't of a mind to be doing anything she wanted.

"Up you come."

What the...? Forcing his eyes to unsquidge, he looked wildly around to see who was hauling him up only to find _it was her!_ "Hey, whaddaya think...?"

"Open wide." And before there was time to register what in the dangblame blue blazes was going on, a foul taste filled his mouth and trickled down his throat. There was no choice but to swallow.

"And again." This time he knew better. But the same cup that Slim had given him water from earlier pressed hard against his lips and forced its way into his mouth.

"Drink!"

The water flowed cool and fresh across his tongue, taking the bitter taste with it and sliding down his throat where it gurgled and bubbled away in his stomach. Jess was more than a little afraid of it making its way back up again. In a concerted effort of manly bravado, he clenched his eyes tightly shut and firmly pursed his lips together, fighting the urge rid himself of that dangblame awful feeling in his guts.

"Mr. Harper. You are not going to be sick."

He wasn't so sure about that.

"Now relax. Take another small sip of water and breathe slowly through your nose. I promise you will start to feel better soon."

Would he? He wasn't so sure he was ever gonna feel better again. And no one had really explained to him what had happened and why he was there. And if he weren't shot, then why did he have a bandage the size of a horse blanket wrapped around his middle. And more importantly, where was Slim?

Jess began to feel fuzzy. His eyes grew heavy and his arms and legs were all a tinglin' and his ears were tuned to a gentle buzz in his head. Dadgum but he sure was feeling fine! Slowly he felt himself being lowered back down, his head and shoulders flush with the cool leather padding beneath him. A pillow was placed gently under his head and he sank low and deep into its softness. The oil lamps above him shimmered and danced and Jess thought they looked right pretty indeed.

Then a head loomed above him and Jess suffered an involuntary flinch when the face of a woman swam in front of him, blocking the light and imposing itself on the pleasant sensations floating though his head. She lifted his eyelids and peered long and hard into his eyes. As homely as she was, Jess didn't really care. His mouth was set in a rigor of mirth, a small trail of drool slithering idly down his chin to make its home just under his jaw. He stared resolutely at the ceiling above him, appreciating every crack and chip and ornate carving.

He was disappointed with the veil of darkness creeping in from the side of his vision, shadowing his view and restricting his keen observations of his surroundings. Jess felt his breathing go deep and even and he listened to the sounds of his own breaths as they gently and sweetly carried him into a state of oblivion.

Emmie-Lou huffed a long sigh of relief and raised her eyes to the heavens offering a silent prayer of thanks. "Finally," she mumbled under her breath. _One down, one to go,_ she thought, congratulating herself on her successful re-educating of Mr. Harper and his aversion to pain relief.

Now to see to Mr. Sherman.

Returning once again to the underwear chair, Emmie-Lou discovered Mr. Sherman had opted to tip his head back against the high arch of her uncle's favorite seat rather than remain curled over his knees as she had left him.

In Emmie's opinion, he was still too pale, the dark shadow of several days growth along his jaw line emphasizing his pasty white complexion. She noted also, the slowed rhythm to his breathing, the slack muscles in his face, eyes closed, and a quiet _pfft_ emanating from relaxed, full lips. Mr. Sherman was doing exactly as she had planned to prescribe, drifting in a deep peaceful slumber. And in her professional opinion, the best place for him at that particular moment in time.

While she had both men right where she wanted them, she allowed her basic feminine instincts again to take the lead. Her stomach grumbled and demanded to be fed and, if she was to make a wild assumption, she figured Mr. Sherman could probably do with some food as well. Mr. Harper was going to have to make do with a diet of laudanum and water for at least the next twenty-four hours.

Suddenly overcome with one more indiscriminate act of compassion, she retrieved yet another blanket from the bureau drawer and covered the sleeping man before returning to the kitchen to rattle some pots and pans and fix herself a bucket-sized pot of coffee. If she'd had a crystal ball, she was fairly certain she would not be seeing her bed in it for at least the next ten or twelve hours, maybe more.

It was close to midnight when she emerged from the kitchen and returned to the surgery where both men were involved in a muted symphony of snoring. She carried a plate of hot stew, a cold biscuit and cup of coffee and settled herself on the opposite side of a small table in the matching highback chair to which Mr. Sherman had made his bed.

Emmie-Lou spent the next few minutes entertaining herself with some quiet contemplation of both men. Seeing them clearly for the first time, without her eyeglasses and the added stress of trying to save a man's life, she found she was rewarded with two fine specimens of male humanity. Although both were heavily whiskered, she thought them to be rather young looking. The sick man on her operating table surely had huge potential to be quite the ladykiller. As long as he didn't open his mouth and engage in conversation. But no... perhaps she was being a tad unfair. As she'd already reasoned with herself, she had not seen him at his best. The pain of appendicitis was enough to test the patience and good manners of the angel Gabriel himself. Perhaps on a good day the man might prove to be rather charming, or at least a little less abrasive.

But it was the tall blonde man that intrigued her more. He didn't fit the mold she had imagined of the rough western frontiersman. In Emmie-Lou's mind she was expecting someone more like... more like, well, to be honest, more like Mr. Harper. Again she gave herself a mental kick and decided she really did need to give the man a chance. But Mr. Slim Sherman... she'd seen in him a man who did exude a certain amount of rugged cowboy toughness, but tempered with an unexpected streak of kindness, compassion and a fierce determination to do right by his friend. She commended his loyalty. It was something to be admired and she found herself wishing... in a way... that she had a friend who would go to such lengths on her behalf. She even found herself half-hoping he would wake and they would have the opportunity to talk some.

Emmie-Lou mopped up the last of the gravy from her plate with the biscuit and placed it in her mouth. Laying the plate on the small side table next to her chair, she reached for her coffee and took a long, slow sip. She smiled quietly over the rim of her cup, thinking of the stories she would tell to her friends and her sister when returning to St. Louis. A tale was already formulating in her mind when she heard a soft moan from behind her, followed by an agitated rustle of linen.

Sighing heavily, she replaced her cup on the table, stole another quick glance at Mr. Sherman, reassuring herself that he was still sleeping then made her way over to her patient.

Emmie-Lou was less than pleased to see his forehead beaded with sweat and a still too-angry red flush high on his cheeks. Laying her hand gently across his brow, she slowly shook her head. This was not what she wanted to encounter. Mr. Harper needed that fever down, and Emmie-Lou was both surprised and concerned that the laudanum hadn't done that already.

Although the symptoms of his appendicitis had been textbook, she was afraid his recovery was not going to be so cut and dried. Stripping the blanket back to expose his chest and belly, she examined the bandage covering his incision, relieved it was showing no signs of leakage. Happy with that result she turned her attention to reducing his temperature.

Reaching around to the bowl of water she'd brought in earlier, Emmie-Lou dipped the terrycloth and wrung it out so it was just damp and began to wipe the sweat from Jess's brow. She spent the next few minutes rinsing and reapplying the cloth, sponging gently across his face, under his chin and along his bare chest. She spoke quiet reassuring words as the young man's movements became more animated.

Jess's fever-driven murmurings rose and fell from soft desperate pleading to an occasional loud cry of despair and Emmie-Lou felt there was more than just the obvious pain and fever causing his agitation. She'd seen men suffering post-operative nightmares before, caught in the grip of laudanum dreams, no way to escape as the drug kept them anchored to whatever horror was playing through their minds. She feared that this was the case with her patient and decided that maybe she ought to be waking him, rather than leave him trapped in a world that was clearly distressing him emotionally and physically.

xxxxXXXXxxx

Slim first became aware of pain in his neck, followed by a stale dry taste in his mouth and an annoying cramp in the calf muscle of his right leg. He shifted his weight seeking a more comfortable position, grunting quietly when his left knee connected with the solid wood arm rest of his... bed? Sounds started to filter through his sleep-fogged brain... gentle crooning, a voice firm but reassuring... a man's desperate mutterings, his own name voiced in a loud anxious cry.

Reality suddenly and rudely slammed into Slim's consciousness and his eyes shot open as he sat to attention, the blanket around his shoulders sliding to the floor and the one that had been draped across his chest and legs tangling around his feet.

Jess!

Slim searched wildly for his pard, his heart pounding and his breath catching in his throat until the room around him began to make sense and the last few hours crept slowly back to make themselves known. He leaned back in the chair, scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of both hands and then swept them through his sleep-tousled hair.

Slim didn't like rude awakenings and especially despised them when they occurred in unfamiliar surroundings. Normally he could make a relatively smooth transition from deep sleep to full consciousness without too much trouble or confusion. Unlike his pard who found it positively awful to have to get reacquainted with daylight hours after drifting off into a deep, although not always restful, slumber. Jess especially disliked it when daylight hours weren't exactly forthcoming with the light.

So, it was only a matter of seconds before Slim's sleep-addled mind readjusted to wakefulness as everything that had happened earlier started to neatly slot into place. His initial instinct was to spring to his feet and make his way to Jess's side, but seeing that Emmie-Lou was already there he paused for a minute to a quietly observe this unusual woman.

Slim had to admit that he felt a certain amount of admiration for this considerably plain individual. He could only assume that having come to the realization that marriage was not going to be an option for her, she had instead carved out a career for herself in a difficult yet worthwhile vocation. Slim also had to confess that he was impressed with how she had both the determination and... yes, he did have to admit... the brains to be successful in a world that would normally not be welcoming to women. And while in the beginning, Slim's opinion of her had been a little shaky, to say the least... and although it went against his inherently strong fear of the optimistic... he was starting to believe that she was indeed quite proficient and capable in her chosen field of medicine.

Having had that thought, it still remained to be seen whether Jess would make it through the night or even the next few days. Slim found a certain amount of comfort in seeing the glass half-empty. It reinforced his self-imposed formula for not getting carried away with the positive

Still, he couldn't help being impressed with how Emmie-Lou was tending to Jess. When Slim had first met her she had come across as extremely pompous and just a little too bossy for his liking. He preferred his women with softer, more rounded edges, and he spared a fleeting moment to wonder why he always found himself courting the exact opposite. Watching Emmie-Lou bathe Jess, her words of comfort seeming to calm him and sweet-talk him down from his fever dream, made Slim think that maybe her earlier public display of aggression was just as much a tool to command respect as her eyeglasses were.

But then, as seemed to be the case when Slim started to relax, things suddenly started to go pear-shaped.

Slim knew that Jess had an endless variety of places where he could sleep: some pleasant, some not so pleasant. Some by choice while others were simply thrust upon him. He could doze quite comfortably in the saddle, nap soundly in his rocking chair by the fire, and snooze peacefully wrapped up snug and warm in a saddle blanket or bedroll next to a camp fire. Then there were those other times that might be classified as not so comfortable. When Jess had found himself unintentionally out cold at the end of another man's fist, sprawled on the floor of a saloon, barn, cabin, jail, the main street of Laramie and even the bear rug on the floor in the ranch house.

Jess's sleep rituals often included thrashing, talking, wrestling, shouting, cussing, punching and - in a more peaceful moment - drool.

Slim had seen and heard 'em all. But he had to admit, Jess in the midst of one of his nightmares still frightened the living daylights out of him. His sudden plaintive cries in the middle of a dark night never ceased to send a sharp stab of adrenaline prickling down Slim's spine and ignite a ferocious hammering of his heart.

Apparently laudanum did not keep a lid on the severity of a nightmare and it took a Slim a few seconds to realize that Emmie-Lou's small frame and shiny new bedside manner were not going to be enough to calm his friend.

Despite the dizziness and fatigue still circling inside his head, Slim was at Emmie-Lou's side in a few easy strides.

"Ma'am, you better let me help you."

Emmie-Lou had been preoccupied with Mr. Harper's thrashing and mumbling and wasn't aware that Mr. Sherman had awakened, not until he was by her side and offering to give her a hand. Emmie's mom didn't raise no fool so she gladly and readily accepted the tall man's assistance. After all, she had a lot at stake, the least not being trying to keep the restless, agitated Mr. Harper's incision intact.

"I think I got this, ma'am. This isn't the first time I've had to deal with Jess and his nightmares."

Emmie-Lou stood back, transfixed once again and unusually taken with the way this man was able to calm his friend simply by speaking his name and reassuring him that he was close by. No, she thought, this was not how she expected to find the men of the Wild West. Of course she was not so naive as to assume that all men were like Slim Sherman, but it did give her something to think about. Maybe _she _needed to reassess_ her_ assumptions, because at that moment she realized that she was just as guilty of clinging to prejudices and jumping to conclusions as those who were so quick to judge her and her choice of career.

Emmie-Lou was reluctant to give Mr. Harper another dose of laudanum so soon, so it was with a great deal of relief that she watched her patient settle back into a more relaxed slumber. The fever still worried her and she didn't expect to be leaving Mr. Harper's bedside any time soon, although it did cross her mind that Mr. Sherman was going to need some sustenance or she'd be seeing a repeat performance of his attempt to become better acquainted with the floor.

"Can I fix you something to eat, Mr. Sherman? I have a pot of stew on the cookstove I've been keeping warm. I suspect we are going to have a long night ahead of us and I'd prefer you were on your feet rather than sprawled out face first on my uncle's newly acquired rug."

Slim adjusted the blanket across Jess, pulling it up over his stomach but leaving his shoulders bare and then turned to Emmie-Lou.

"Slim," he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I never did cotton to folks calling me Mr. Sherman. You can call me Slim."

Slim watched as a slow smile spread across Emmie-Lou's face and for a fleeting moment he caught a glimpse of something... something, well, a little less homely than what she'd been presenting most of the night.

"Okay... Slim. And you can call me Doctor."

Slim returned the smile, chuckling softly under his breath and coming to the conclusion that in fact he could call her doctor and do so quite confidently. "It would be my pleasure... Doctor Burns."

There was an uncomfortable silence while lines were redrawn and opinions reassessed, but a loud rumble from Slim's stomach broke the mood. Emmie-Lou was caught in an unusual moment of awkwardness whereby her normally slick tongue had tied itself in knots, trapping the words she was trying to get out. A quick throat-clearing seemed to solve the problem.

"So... Slim... can I tempt you with some food? Hot stew, cold biscuit and hot coffee?"

"Sounds like just what the Doctor ordered,"quipped Slim offering a broad grin.

"That's settled then. You stay with Mr. Harper and if you don't mind, continue to bathe him with the damp cloth. Let's see if we can't reduce that fever."

Twenty minutes later Slim was seated in the ex underwear chair, having convinced Emmie-Lou that it would be in everyone's best interests to have Jess clothed in at least his longjohns should he happen to wake and be aware of his condition. Slim figured Jess could cope without his undershirt. Shoveling food into his mouth with his right hand and slurping big mouthfuls of coffee from the cup in his left, he was finally starting to feel semi-human again. He sure wished he could clean up some, his whiskers were beginning to itch and he reckoned his clothes were just about ready to get up and walk off on their own. But for now, he was content to just warm his stomach with a good home cooked meal.

"I think he's settling better," Emmie-Lou announced, plonking herself down in the chair opposite Slim and reaching for her own cup of freshly brewed coffee. "When you've finished eating, I'd like to move him to the daybed. He'll be more comfortable there and should his fever spike, he'll be easier to control if he starts thrashing around again."

Once again Slim found himself confounded by this strange woman. Her earlier abrasive manner seemed to have been totally erased and in its place he was seeing a compassionate, caring, dedicated... doctor. He was overcome with a need to know a little more about her.

"Is this", Slim waved his arm around to encompass the surgery and Jess on the operating table, "something you've always wanted to do, you know, since you were a small girl?"

"You mean being a doctor?"

"Yeah."

"Oh heaven's no. I wanted to be a ballerina."

Slim visibly balked and tried to hide his surprise. _That _was not the answer he was expecting.

"No, Mr. Sherman... Slim. That was a joke." She smiled widely, and Slim saw that glimpse again. A promise of something less... more... something that was bordering on appealing. "I wanted to be a vet. I had a menagerie of all sorts of sick or injured animals in my care. However when my parents saw I was serious they nearly had a fit. They couldn't bear the thought of their little girl having her arm buried up to her shoulder in some animal's rear end."

Slim was not often at a loss for words, but he had found himself severely lacking in appropriate responses to this woman's topic of conversation. It took a great deal of will power and a certain amount of jaw manipulation to stop his coffee spurting across the room when she had announced her parents' concerns.

Emmie-Lou had several passions in her life. She had, on the odd occasion, had cause to climb high onto her soap box and preach her displeasure over unsubstantiated claims by the male population that a woman simply did not have the brains to cope with the finer intricacies of today's modern medicine. Sitting there in front of Slim Sherman, she could feel the urge to sermonize come down strong upon her. She was poised on the precipice of a great and detailed lecture when her sudden brewing brain-snap came to a screeching halt and she realized that the man sitting in front of her seemed genuinely interested in how she came to choose medicine.

Huffing a deep sigh and still working at keeping her rant at bay, she started on her explanation. "My sister was already studying at the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, and making a success of it, despite the obstacle of being in a male-dominated world. While my sister had her sights set on educating, I wanted a more hands-on role so at my parents' suggestion, I chose to become a doctor. I found, in the end that I had a real calling for it; despite my male counterparts' attempts to discredit me at every corner."

Slim sat in quiet contemplation. He had to admit that he was probably just as guilty as the city folk of believing there were certain roles for men and certain roles for women and never the twain should meet. Dr. Burns had certainly turned his belief system on its head and he had to confess that once she'd rid herself of those ridiculous eyeglasses, she had proven herself to be not only competent, but also to be in possession of an ample streak of compassion and kindness. Slim knew Jess wasn't an easy patient to deal with, yet she'd remained calm, and for the most part managed to comfort and reassure his obstinate pard.

"Guess your folks knew their daughter pretty well." Slim said, finishing off the last mouthful of stew and putting his empty plate on the side table. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, and then said, "Ma'am... Doc... I know tonight I was out of line when we first met. We don't see a lot of women doctors in Laramie. In fact, you're the first, and I guess - with Jess being in such a bad way - I forgot my manners and let my prejudices get the better of me. I'd be real obliged if you'd accept my apologies."

Emmie-Lou Burns had built a good solid defensive wall around herself over the past few years. And she'd kept it heavily guarded with a sharp tongue and a ready-to-fire temper, but now she began to feel a chink in her armor and an unusual need to lay down her weapons and accept the offered truce. If she was honest... really honest... with herself she might even say she quite liked Slim Sherman with his fierce concern and loyalty to his friend Jess Harper, along with his willingness to admit he could have been wrong. And she wasn't exactly blind - at least not since disposing of her eyewear - to his warm open smile and those cornflower blue eyes. The last remnants of her ingrained hostility melted away and she readily and happily accepted Slim's apology.

xxxxXXXxxxx

Jess had a pet hate. Actually Jess had whole chuckwagon full of pet hates, but at that precise moment there was one persistent whining, nagging hate jumping up and down and crying out for his immediate attention. It had gone past begging and pleading and was now demanding to be heard and answered in clear, concise, informative sentences. Immediately. No ifs, buts, maybes, or when-you're-feeling-betters.

And what it basically amounted to was, where the dangblame heck was he and why the devil was he there?

Jess hated being kept in the dark more than a dog hates a bath. He couldn't rightly recall what had happened to him, or why his belly was achin' or why his mouth tasted like footrot, why every time he opened his eyes there was the image of... well... a downright hideous woman hovering above him. And he weren't quite sure what was going on with Slim. He'd heard his voice on and off but he couldn't remember seeing him. Not since the hotel room, not since being hauled to his feet and then forcibly dragged along the main street of Laramie.

And he was miserable. Real doggone miserable. So much so that he was having a hard time remembering what it was like to not feel miserable, or not be in pain, or not be in the dark... except... there was something fluttering at the edge of his consciousness. An inkling. A promise of something better, although it seemed to Jess that it was more a memory of things gone past. A magnificent feeling of well being... of floating... of being in a room with pretty lights, and intricate designs and... ugh... that face hovering above him.

Jess was not enjoying life and it was about time someone knew about it.

"Sliiii... Slii..." Slim's name caught in his throat, its feeble attempt at freeing itself met with a sound resistance by a tongue as dry and rough as a wheat sack.

And he was hot. Real hot and his belly hurt. A lot. He started pushing at the blanket covering his chest, moving his legs in an effort to escape, reaching out for help with his hands and voicing his displeasure in a long drawn out groan.

"Jess?"

There was a comforting familiarity about the way that voice spoke his name. A certain cadence balanced with an authority he understood. It felt like a voice he knew. And knew well.

"Jess, come on, son, wake up now."

Jess pushed past the crusty stickiness coating his lashes and forced his eyes to open.

Doctor Burns watched as the dark lashes fluttered, the young man wary, his expression confused until the glaze in his eyes lifted and recognition seeped in to replace it.

"Doc?"

"Well, now, welcome back. I believe you've been keeping my niece busy over the last few hours."

"Huh? Where... where's Sli... Slim?"

Doc Burns had had more than his fair share of dealings with Jess Harper. Why, he had a whole jar full of extracted Harper bullets that he often showed off to his friends and family and fellow MDs. He had recently acquired shares in the Massachusetts linen company Wamsutta Mills, his major supplier of bed sheets for bandages. Jess Harper had allowed him to test the limits of a man's ability to withstand pain, where his findings were written up in The American Journal of Medicine, earning him the auspicious Ausdauer prize for medical research into pain management for the difficult.

Having had a strong history and a firm, although somewhat tumultuous relationship with the young Mr. Harper, Doc Burns was also well aware of the difficulties involved in tending to his number one patient. He was prepared for the usual round of 'I ain't stayin' here' and 'I can too ride' and 'ain't nobody gonna tell me I ain't in no condition to eat Daisy's apple pie'. He was also ready for the customary refusal of pain relief and he had to congratulate his niece on her tactics for changing the young man's mind. Even if Jess hadn't been altogether agreeable about it.

"Here, son, let me get you something to drink." Doc Burns reached for a cup off the sideboard. He couldn't help but be mildly amused, watching a veil of suspicion cloud Jess's face. "It's only water, Jess."

Slipping a hand under his back, the doc lifted Jess and held the cup to his lips. Jess drank with small tentative sips until he realized the doc had been telling the truth, that it was only water and then he started to gulp. _That young man sure has trust issues,_ Doc Burns thought to himself.

"Easy there, boy, slow down. Small sips."

"What...where...where's Slim?"

"He's right over there. Sound asleep." Doc Burns pointed to the chair where Slim was curled awkwardly on his side, not looking in the least bit comfortable. Still, after the night he'd had, the doc wasn't surprised he'd managed to drift off so easily.

Jess lifted his head to look but a sudden, sharp pain low in his belly pulled him up short.

"Now don't go trying to move around or you're going to undo all my niece's fine work."

"Would someone tell me what the dangblamed blue blazes is going on? What happened to me?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"NO! Ah! Ow!"

"Take it easy, you're not going to do yourself any good getting all worked up. You've had surgery."

"Whadda...ya mean? Was I shot?"

"No, Jess, but I'm guessing it probably felt like you were. You had your appendix removed. It's a small organ located on the lower right side of your abdomen. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say it's a nasty piece of work when it goes and gets infected. Which is what happened to yours. Lucky for you, my niece was here to perform the surgery."

"So... so it wasn't a dream? That darn home... I mean, I kind of remember a woman. Your niece an ornery sort of girl, is she? With a real hankerin' for givin' orders?"

Doc Burns eyed the young man thoughtfully and couldn't help chuckling when he imagined the irresistible force meeting the immovable object. No wonder poor old Slim was all tuckered out.

"Ah, yes, that sounds like her."

"I ain't used to a girl doctorin' me." Jess whined. "She still here?"

"No, Jess, I sent her off to get some sleep. She's had a rough night."

"On account a me?"

"Yes, you could say that. You've been pretty sick, Jess. Been battling a fever most of the night." Doc Burns laid his hand across Jess's brow. "Still a little warm. How are you feeling? How's the pain?"

"I'll manage. It don't hurt that bad."

Doc Burns raised an eyebrow. "Is that right? Let's see if that holds true while I check your incision."

Armed with a new stack of bandages, Doc burns cut away the ones Emmie-Lou and Slim had applied the night before. Jess might have thought he could fool the older, more experienced physician, but John D. Burns was finely tuned to every flinch, muffled groan, and teeth-clenching hiss that Jess was not so successfully trying to mask. Of course the tight-fisted twisting of the sheet that was pushed low beneath his hips was a dead giveaway that Jess Harper was well and truly caught in the grip of extreme post operative pain. The boy, Doc Burns had decided, would be taking laudanum whether he liked it or not.

J.D. Burns couldn't help but admire - and not without a certain amount of pride - the neat, expertly stitched incision that stretched across Jess's lower abdomen. It was fine work, fine work indeed and a good healthy color, no sign of infection lurking in the shadows.

When the doc started to reapply the fresh bandages Jess let out strangled yelp around about the same time that a sudden and violent attack of the shakes hit.

"Easy, Jess, easy. I'm nearly done." Doc Burns continued to bind the fabric around Jess's middle, taking as much care as possible not to jostle the young man who was clearly suffering an extreme amount of pain. _Foolish, young man. There's no shame in admitting your hurting. _But he knew, for some reason, Jess Harper would rather cut out his tongue than own up to the level of pain he was experiencing.

With the last of the binding in place, the doc turned his attention to pain management. Filling a small spoon with the bitter brown liquid, he again raised Jess's head, slipping the spoon between the young man's lips when a short sharp gasp of pain allowed him access.

Jess swallowed hard, his face contorted in a frown of disgust but he didn't fight against the Doc's ministrations which only went to prove to Doc Burns that his patient was indeed suffering more than his silence would suggest. He offered Jess the cup of water which he drank from greedily before indicating he'd had enough.

Jess allowed himself to be lowered back down without a single squeak of protest. When he looked up at the doc, his eyes glassy and framed by deep lines across his brow, he offered a quiet whispered word of thanks.

"Get some rest, son. It's the best thing for you."

xxxxXXXxxxx

Slim knew exactly where he was. Curled, and cramped and squashed into the small cavity of Doc Burns' high backed seat. He was about as comfortable as a hog in a hen house, but he was so blamed tired he simply couldn't summon up the necessary energy to move. He could hear the quiet murmurings of doctor and patient in the background. Jess's questioning voice, husky and tight was easy to discern from Doc Burns' clear, authoritative one.

Little jabs of recollection kept stabbing at Slim's brain. Sending unwanted images of last night's ordeal scrolling through his mind and sabotaging any attempt he might have made to return to that quiet place of rest. Of course, being scrunched like a pretzel wasn't helping any. With his left leg folded under him he was at serious risk of never again regaining the feeling in his toes. His right leg was draped over the arm of the chair and the side of his head pressed hard against the wooden edging around the backrest. Lightning flashes of the past twelve hours continued to prod him further towards wakefulness. Images of Jess... sick with fever and pain. Surgery... an incision, blood, appendix, puke. The doctor... female, eyeglasses, upended furniture. Jess again... agitated, still feverish. Bathing him, trying to cool him down. Doc Burns... smiling, her eyes that vivid shade of green, her dedication, care and skill. Which made Slim wonder... where was she?

Slim's curiosity gave him a good hefty nudge, pushing him closer towards the inevitable. He _was_ going to have to open his eyes. He _was_ going to have to move. He _did_ have to check on Jess and he _did _have to know what happened to Emmie-Lou Burns. Plus he was not so gently being reminded of how much coffee he'd consumed during the night.

Slim had spent many hours in vigil, waiting on news of his pard and how he was faring from whichever bullet extraction he happened to be recovering from at the time. Slim was certainly very familiar with the location of all the facilities in the Burns' house. With a quiet groan and loud cracking of knees, Slim struggled to his feet. He waved a brief greeting to the real Doc Burns and pointed with his finger towards the door.

"I'll be right back." He croaked on his way past Jess and the doc.

When he did return, it was with a freshly-scrubbed face and room for more coffee. Doc Burns was still with Jess so Slim made his way over to the sickbed to check on his pard.

Good manners required that he ask after Jess before satisfying his nagging curiosity as to Doc Emmie-Lou's whereabouts.

"Morning , Slim. You want some coffee? I just put a pot on the stove."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks. How's Jess?"

"Oh, I think he'll make it. Fever is down and the incision looks clean. As long as we can keep him still he should heal well."

Slim raised an eyebrow. Keeping Jess still, or quiet, was usually something the doc saw only on his wishlist. Making it a reality was a lot easier said than done. And they both knew it.

"He's still in some pain, Slim. I don't think he'll be giving us any trouble for a few days. And I plan to keep him down with this little persuader," Doc Burns said, holding up the bottle of laudanum.

"When can I take him home?"

"Oh not for a couple days at least. I'd like to keep him here until his fever has gone."

"Is he really gonna be all right?" There just didn't seem to be enough guarantees for Slim's liking.

"Oh, I think so. My niece did a good job. She's a fine surgeon, you know?"

"Uh... yeah." Slim looked around. "Where is she?"

"Sleeping. She's catching the afternoon stage to Cheyenne. Heading back to St Louis."

"Oh." Slim wasn't sure why, but for some reason that disappointed him. "I thought she mighta been staying on awhile. She said she was here to do some training."

"Yes, she was and she did. You'd be surprised what I've learned from that girl in the last week. Did you know, in the city..."

But Slim's ears had suddenly become blocked. Chock full of misinterpretations and misunderstandings so that everything after 'learned from that girl' was drowned out by the voice in his head bellowing at him about jumping to wrong conclusions.

"You mean she wasn't here to learn from _you_?"

"Learn from...? Good heavens, no! Do you know how many times I've wired that girl and the letters I've written pleading for her to make the trip to Laramie and share some of her expertise with me?"

"Well... no. But I thought... She implied... boy am I feeling a little foolish right about now."

Slim saw the light come on in Doc Burns' face, realization suddenly dawning on him. "Aaah... you thought that because she is a woman, that she was the student and I the teacher. Slim Sherman, I would have credited you with more sense than that and certainly with less of a chauvinistic attitude."

"Yeah, I hear you, Doc. I admit, I wasn't all that comfortable at first, but you know... she did a fine job of taking care of Jess. And we both how difficult he can be."

Doc Burns chuckled quietly. "Indeed we do. Well, he seems to be resting comfortably now. How about some of that coffee I had on offer?"

"Yeah. I could sure do with a cup. Uh... Doc? I've got to get to the bank, then head back to the ranch. Would you... if you... would you pass on my thanks to your niece. I'd hate to think what would have happened if she hadn't been here. And... Tell her I said, so long."

"I'll do that, Slim. But she'll be back in a few weeks. I'm organizing for a small group of doctors from the outlying towns to meet in Laramie and Emmie-Lou has agreed to come back and offer her teaching services again."

For some reason that pleased Slim. He felt he'd only scratched the surface last night, getting to know Emmie-Lou Burns. There was something about her that piqued his interest. Even though in his own mind it surprised him, he couldn't help feeling that he sure would have liked some time to get to know her better.

"Doc?"

"Uh huh?"

"She's quite a girl."

"Yes Slim, she is that."

xxxxXXXxxxx

RANCH HOUSE

FOUR WEEKS LATER

Daisy had a real soft spot for children. She loved their wide-eyed innocence, their thirst for learning, their boundless supply of energy and even their propensity for expressing their displeasure through a filter system that was at times clearly out of order. She even found herself smiling indulgently at their bad-tempered, pouty little tantrums. Yes, children were a real delight.

However, the same attributes displayed by a man in his mid-twenties were not quite so endearing. In fact it bordered on the ridiculous and sorely tested her patience to the limit. Sometimes, although highly embarrassed by the figurative foot-stamping and symbolic body slams to the ground, Daisy did try to maintain an air of patience by pasting on a relaxed, happy smile. Inside her head she often imagined giving the man involved a good hard slap up the side of the head.

Daisy thought a grown man should know better about a whole lot of things. One of the least not being how to take care minding what was best in aiding towards his own healing process.

"Jess Harper! Will you stop scratching at your stomach? How do you expect that wound to heal with you worrying it every five minutes?"

"Aw, Daisy, it itches," Jess replied giving another rub along the scar on his belly.

"I understand that, but it is most unbecoming for a gentleman to be scratching at a place that far below his belt buckle. I hope you won't be doing that at the dance tonight. I assume you are going there in the hope of meeting a young lady."

A slight tinge of embarrassment spread across Jess's cheeks, but he did stop that incessant clawing at his belly.

"You better listen to Daisy, Jess. You're gonna scratch that wound right open again if you're not careful." Slim leaned forward in his chair, pulling on his brand-new shiny brown Saturday night boots, admiring the mirror-like gleam after an hour of dedicated polishing.

Jess added the finishing touches to his neatly combed hair, slipping the comb into the inside pocket of his jacket. "I ain't never had a cut that's itched like this. And I ain't ever had a doc shave me before..."

Daisy had to smile. Jess's cheeks were positively glowing when he realized what he'd been about to say in front of her.

"'Sides, I don't see why she had to go and do that anyway. Itches like crazy," he moaned, grabbing his gun belt off the hook by the door and fastening it low across his hips.

"Jess?"

"Yeah, Tiger?"

"I thought you said your appendix was in your stomach?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Then why did the doc have ta shave your face when she was gonna be cuttin' your belly?"

It wasn't often Jess was stuck for words and Daisy watched in amusement as he searched for an appropriate way to respond to Mike's question. But when his mouth continued to gape like a freshly landed trout, Daisy figured it was her duty to step in and save the day.

"Mike, you've still got some chores to finish up before supper."

"Aw but..."

"No buts. I'll explain it all to you after supper. Now off you go."

"Thanks Daisy," Jess said as Mike disappeared into the kitchen. Then mumbling quietly, he added, "Still don't see why she had to go and shave me. The real Doc Burns wouldn't a done it."

"She seemed to know what she was doing, Jess. Don't forget she saved your life." Slim stood and joined Jess by the door, reaching for his own gun belt.

"Alls I can remember is her orderin' me around and makin' me drink stuff I had no mind to be drinkin'. And she was about the homeliest looking woman I ever saw."

"Ease up, Jess." Slim said. Then allowing a smile to curve his lips added, "She was kind of appealing in her own way. Did you notice her eyes were a real pretty shade of green? And her smile..."

"You been eating loco weed, pard? She was about as good lookin' as a hatful of arm pits."

"I thought so at first, too, Jess, but..."

"Well there ya go, ain't nothin' more to be said, now you nearly ready? I'm about bustin' to have me some fun."

"All right, about time we let you loose on an unsuspecting public again. I hear the women have been lying in wait for Mose every day for the past week wondering when you'd be well enough to head into town."

"Well, let's get out there and show 'em!" Jess said.

"Now, Jess, you take it easy. Remember what the doctor said about not overdoing things. You're still healing, it takes time to get over major surgery." Daisy knew she was wasting her breath but felt compelled to speak her mind anyway. She hated using 'I told you so' and it seemed that in the past year and a half she'd just about worn it out when it came to Jess.

"Sure, Daisy. I'll be careful. 'Sides, I got old Hardrock here watchin' out for me. I'll be fine."

Jess had made many acclamations over the time she'd got know him. Most of them started with 'I'll be careful', 'don't worry' or 'I'll be fine.' Unfortunately they usually ended with 'I shoulda listened to you' or 'I'm real sorry 'bout what happened.' She expected by the end of the night she'd be hearing one or both of those declarations again.

Still, she couldn't begrudge him some time away from the ranch. She knew he'd been going quietly stir crazy trapped indoors for most of the last four weeks. After his operation he'd remained at Doc Burns' four days before they'd finally been able to bring him home to recuperate. Daisy had had all her medical armory fully stocked and close at hand waiting for his impending arrival - laudanum, willow bark, medicinal whiskey, fresh bandages, and her recently acquired twelve-gauge shot gun. Just in case young Jess Harper had any crazy notions about getting out of bed before he was ready.

Daisy had been both relieved and a little concerned that Jess had been uncharacteristically subdued and remained in his bed the first week without argument. However, his true colors started to show through around day eight and Daisy had kept her shotgun well-oiled and in clear view of the sickbed. In his weakened state, Daisy knew she'd be faster on the draw than him.

The Spring Dance would be his first venture away from the ranch since his surgery and although she knew Jess was still far from completely healed, the doc had said it would be okay for him to attend as long as he took it easy. Daisy had snorted in a most indelicate manner and tried very hard not to openly guffaw in the Doc's face at the thought of Jess following his advice. But... for the sake of everyone's sanity, she went along with Doc Burns' assessment.

"Seeya, Daisy," Jess called on his way out the door with Slim in tow. "Don't wait up for us."

She smiled and gave them a wave, then stood at the window and watched as the buckboard pulled away. Yes, Daisy couldn't help but feel a deep affection for that hot-headed young man. But nearly two years of experience had taught her that love and affection alone were not enough to convince Jess that there were times he ought to do as he was told and just slow down some. She suspected he'd be in sore need of some bedrest again when he did return home.

"Mike! Be a dear and bring me the shotgun cartridges, will you?"

xxxxXXXxxxx

Jess didn't like rules. And he weren't real fond of regulations or boundaries neither. When he thought about it though, that wasn't strictly true. He just disliked the rules, regulations and boundaries that applied to him. Even worse than that, Jess really hated it when the people who inflicted those rules on him turned out to be right. Like right then. At the Spring Dance, where he had sweat pouring off his chin, dribbling down his back, staining that fine dress shirt and soaking into the waistband of his longjohns. And dangblame it all, his appendix scar was itchin' somethin' awful. And there was a strange feeling deep in his guts. Not pain exactly, but it weren't real comfortable. In fact it was downright uncomfortable and he'd had to stop his energetic rendition of the polka right when he was just getting warmed up with Jenny Halliday. It was either that or disgrace himself by puking - worse yet... fainting.

Jenny had been real understanding on account of her knowing about Jess's recent surgery and subsequent recuperation. She had offered to sit with him when he'd had a very big need to be resting in a hurry. She'd even brought him a drink of water and sent for Slim. Jess was beside himself with excitement. That was all he needed - Slim hovering around him like a mother hen. Dangblame it all to...

"You okay, pard?"

"Yeah, I'm all right. Guess I just overdid it a bit." Jess rubbed at his belt buckle pushing it down so the rough edge of his cowhide leather belt scraped along the persistent itch under his belly button.

"Thought Daisy told you to stop doing that?" Slim sat himself down next to Jess, leaning forward and resting elbows on knees.

"Yeah, I know it. If it weren't for that darned woman doc I wouldn't be havin' a need for scratchin' ." He whined to deaf ears.

"You can say that again. You wouldn't be scatching, eating or dancing or even breathing. When are you going to get it through your head that Doc Emmie-Lou..."

"Hey, Slim!" Jess wasn't real fond of lectures and ofttimes, just when Slim was winding up to the climax, he found his mind wandering to more important things like what was Daisy cooking for dinner? How was he going to get out of washing the dishes, or who was that new pretty little thing in town and how long would it take for him to strike up a conversation with her?

"Slim! Lookee over there. I'll be dadgummed. Who is she?"

Slim paused in mid point, following Jess's gaze and finding the woman in question with no trouble at all. In fact, he wondered how on earth he hadn't noticed her before now. There was something about the way she held herself, an air of self-assurance that seemed vaguely familiar to him. He couldn't help noticing how the emerald green dress matched her eyes and highlighted the thick auburn hair that purely cascaded down her back. Boy, she was a real beauty.

"Slim! She's coming this way." Jess was on his feet in a second, a huge grin splashed across his face in preparation for wooing the young woman heading towards them. He couldn't believe his luck when she returned the smile as she approached.

"Well, Mr. Harper, what a surprise to see you here. I wouldn't have expected you to be fit for dancing for at least another two weeks." Then turning to Slim. "And Mr. Sherman... Slim. What a pleasure to see you again."

Both boys stood with jaws hanging loose. Not in a million years would Slim have imagined that that inkling he'd had - that promise of something special from the headstrong Emmie-Lou Burns - could have brought him this vision of loveliness.

Jess looked at his pard, taking in that gleam in his eye, the relaxed open friendly smile plastered across his face. Jess had an awful feeling that he was being left out of something significant. And how come this woman knew their names? Had they met before? Jess didn't take too kindly to being on the outside.

With narrowed, suspicious eyes Jess glared at the woman, then with an equal amount of suspicion coating his words asked, "Have we met before?"

Pulling her eyes away from Slim, Emmie-Lou Burns - skilled physician, renowned educator, sharp-tongued feminist and ravishing beauty - turned to Jess and said, "I should think so, Mr. Harper. Quite extensively, too, I might add. How is that incision healing up?"

Jess stared open-mouthed as the penny dropped to the floor with a deafening clang, bounced once or twice then rebounded hard to spring up and clip Jess a stinging blow to his pride. He wasn't sure why, but he suddenly had a terrible urge to take a step back, and then another. "You!" He said from the safety of five or six feet distance between him and the 'doc'.

"Dr. Emmie-Lou Burns." She held out her hand to Jess, "I don't believe we've been officially introduced. But I feel I know you quite well."

Jess's belly itched mightily in sympathy for his embarrassment. Meeting the woman who was the cause of his past three weeks of ungodly torment - as the hair around his lower abdomen grew back and the cut along that previously bare and barren track joined together - was sending all kinds of mixed feelings through his head. His fingers twitched instinctively by his hip and probably would have caressed the butt of his iron... had it still been hanging at his side and not surrendered to the dance marshal.

Momentarily mesmerized by the dainty, smooth, perfectly manicured hand that was being held out to him, Jess recovered the ground between them and took it in his, shaking gently before letting go.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Harper? It's good to see you back on your feet."

Jess was having a moment of awkwardness. He couldn't quite figure out how he felt. Physically, there was room for improvement; emotionally, his natural basic instinct was poised to attack. After all, she had done her fair share of attacking on him. She'd poked and prodded and cut and forced hideous drinks down his throat and she'd... if his fading memory served him right... stripped him out of his underwear. It wasn't something he and Slim had ever discussed, but he had an awful feeling that it hadn't been a dream.

Still, a tiny spark of forgiveness ignited in his heart and he was obliged to acknowledge that she _had _saved his life. And while the constant itching was certainly irritating - it did, as Slim had so rightly pointed out - beat the alternative of him being put to bed with a pick and shovel instead of tucked into his own bunk by Daisy and Slim. He did owe her his life and he found he wasn't too proud to admit it.

While the flame flickered small with forgiveness, he found that other thoughts coming into his head were causing the flame to flare and crackle heartily. Emmie-Lou Burns was not near as homely as he remembered. Jess had a real hankering for pretty women - young, not so young, single, spoken-for, engaged, widowed... they were all the same to him; mighty inviting and mighty tempting.

The more he studied Emmie-Lou Burns, the more he had to agree with his pard - her eyes were right pretty, right pretty indeed. And he could still feel the lingering softness of her skin where he'd been forced to shake her hand. The faint scent of lavender in the air had also not escaped his notice, or the light spattering of freckles across her nose and full lips that parted in a smile that lit her whole face. He was also quite taken with the small dimple in her right cheek and the shape of her feminine form poured into that snug fitting dress of hers... it fair set his heart a hammerin' in his chest.

"Jess? You all right?"

"Huh?"

"Looked like you zoned out for a minute there, pard. You're not going to pass out are you?"

"What? No... no. I'm fine."

Turning his attention back to Emmie-Lou, Jess stuttered out a long overdue word of thanks. "Ma'am... Doc... I'm much obliged to you for saving my life. Slim here told me what you did and... seems... I weren't exactly on my best behavior."

"You're welcome, Mr. Harper. I'm glad to see you looking so much better. But remember, you are still early days into your recovery. I'm sure my uncle has instructed you on what care should be taken to aid your healing."

"Yes, ma'am."

Emmie-Lou was forced into a quick and unexpected reassessment of Mr. Harper and his ornery bad tempered self. She had wondered, while he was so sick, if it was just the pain talking, making him so... difficult. But that temper of his seemed to be out and on full display, even there at the Spring Dance, where he should have been enjoying himself. She knew his pain should have gone by now, and so – sadly - she had decided that he _was _just what she'd seen that night four weeks ago. An obstinate, pig-headed, bad tempered... but then he'd apologized and thanked her...

Emmie-Lou had to do a mighty quick reshuffle and realignment of her thoughts. She found herself feeling an unexpected moment of fondness for the young man,who - without the whiskers covering his face - she decided was in fact older than her own twenty-three years. Although not by much. There was a certain amount of sweetness in the discomfort he displayed as he organized his apology in his head and the humble way he shuffled his feet and kept his eyes lowered as he delivered it. She also considered that he had a smile that simply sparkled. Yes, that one was a lady's man, indeed.

But despite Mr. Harper's new-found charms and good manners, it was still the tall Slim Sherman she found herself drawn to. Even more so, seeing him in all his Saturday night finery... his face warm and open, the bright lights surrounding the dance floor catching in his blue eyes, and that friendly, kind, welcoming smile of his.

Jess was feelin' like a fifth wheel. He weren't no dummy when it came to preenin' and flirtin' and sidlin' up to the opposite sex. And he considered himself somewhat of an expert when it came to recognizin' those signs in other men. As far as he was concerned, his pard, his best friend, was dancin' the dance of the peacock and he wondered if Slim was even aware. One thing was certain, the good Lady Doc weren't missin' those signs one little bit. She was on it like a kitten on milk and lappin' it up just as heartily.

There was a tiny little pang nigglin' at Jess's insides and it had nothin' to do with his surgery. He seemed to be sorely lackin' in the good doc's attentions and that weren't sittin' real well with him... no siree, not real well at all. After all, _he_ was the patient. _He_ had been the one whose life had hung by a thread. _He_ should have had the doc's undivided attention, not Slim. But she and his pard were too busy makin' googly eyes at each other to notice what Jess was up to. And it weren't all that long ago that Jess had been on the verge of pukin', maybe even collapsin' from his overzealous efforts at trippin' the light fantastic. Why, if Jenny Halliday hadn't helped him to a seat and fetched him that drink of water, who knows what dire consequences, may have resulted?

Jess decided it was time to take action.

"Ahem." He tried throat-clearing as a preamble.

"Slim?" Still no response.

"Doc?" Nothin' from her either.

Subtlety didn't seem to be workin'.

"Hey, SLIM!" Jess took hold of Slim's arm and gave it a good solid jerk.

"Yeah, Jess, what's up?"

Jess would have preferred that Slim had at least looked at him when he spoke. Instead of the two of them standing there staring at each other like star-crossed lovers.

"I was wantin' to speak to the doc there."

"Yes, Mr. Harper, how can I help you?" But she, too, remained transfixed, her eyes never leaving Slim's face.

"Well ma'am... Doc... I reckon you can call me Jess. 'Specially seeing as how you saved my life."

"Okay... Jess. Is that all?"

"No, it ain't. You see, I got his pain in my knee. Been botherin' me for a few months. And then there's this ache in my shoulder and I was thinkin'... maybe you oughta take a look at it. Could be somethin' serious developin'..."

"I'm sure we can work something out. Why don't you come by the surgery tomorrow? My uncle will be there and I'm sure..."

"I weren't thinkin' of seeing your uncle, exactly. I was more of a mind to maybe..."

Much to Jess's bewilderment, Slim moved to stand between him and Emmie-Lou Burns, effectively shutting down his play for the good doctor.

Still with his back towards Jess, Slim then invited Emmie-Lou to have the next dance.

"Why, Slim, I'd love to." Jess didn't think it was possible but he watched her face beam even brighter as she accepted Slim's request.

"May I?" Slim asked, holding out his arm and waiting for Emmie-Lou to slip her hand through.

Jess was having an uncommon amount of bad luck when it came to speech. He'd never encountered so many situations that had left him both stunned and tongue-tied in such a short amount of time.

"Slim. Wait up."

"HEY, SLIM! What about me?"

"Oh. You better rest up, Jess. What, with your bad knee and your shoulder troubling you and that appendix scar itching the way it is. I'll send Jenny Halliday over to keep you company."

"But... aw, Slim. That ain't what I meant!"

The end.


End file.
